


The Desperado

by ArmedWithAStaringFly



Category: Neopets
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Even if no one wants to read, F/M, Kanrik Backstory, Romance, Slow Burn, but goddamn it I like it and I will finish it, fills in what happened between Hannah and the Ice Caves and their wedding in Curse of Maraqua, this is seriously a monster of a fic that I wrote the bulk of like four or five years ago
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-02-05 10:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12792228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmedWithAStaringFly/pseuds/ArmedWithAStaringFly
Summary: Kanrik didn't mean to be friends with her. He didn't mean to feel indebted to her. He most certainly never, ever, meant to fall in love with her as he was trying to place himself as the new leader of the Thieves Guild.How Hannah and Kanrik came to be married, and how Kanrik came to be at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Can't believe I'm actually, seriously posting this. 
> 
> I started this fic in what must have been 2013. I posted a bit on Tumblr, thinking that some interest would make me finish it. But then life happened and four/five-ish years later it still wasn't finished, even though I was over 15000 words and 32 pages in. But I've gotten back into Neopets a little lately, funnily enough, and it maybe drove me to actually finish this damn thing, as I still had a lot of affection for it. It had the working title "Wonderwall" (because that basic-as-hell song actually did inspire it initially) for almost half a decade. Instead I chose a different song that also helped inspire it, "Desperado" (specifically the Clint Black version).

_Kanrik almost doesn’t remember how old he was. Seventeen? Eighteen? Old enough to have found himself on the streets fending for himself, learning to use a knife on street corners and run faster than police, victims, and fellow thieves alike. Knives always fit him the best. They were fast but effective, easily hidden, and perfect for use in dark corners. He was always going to end up a thief. He was just too good at it not to._

_Besides, what else was there to do? There were no jobs in town, especially not for a homeless traveler. And begging was useless and degrading. People feared thieves, they spat on beggars._

_He knew this, because he had seen it. Finley was a pitifully frail old man—a jubjub, of all things—with patchy blue fur and feet so worn he could barely wobble on them, and when he begged the Meridellians would turn up their noses or kick him aside. When Kanrik approached them with his weapon in hand, they didn’t dare try anything of the sort._

_Finley would sometimes fumble over to Kanrik when he was sitting alone in the back streets. He would plop down, smile a toothless grin and request Kanrik make a fire, “something to warm this aching feet and brighten your moody face!” The young man would obey without a word, and Finley never seemed to mind his silence; rather, he preferred Kanrik as a listener when he talked about everything under the midnight moon. His wares for the day, the weather, Kanrik’s choice in clothing, his past…he claimed to have been a champion of downhill rolling racing, before the cheese rolling business moved in and drove the rolling jubjubs out of business. “And to think,” he would say in a raspy laugh, “we thought that ‘take home your winning cheese’ gimmick would never last!”_

_Kanrik wasn’t sure if he believed him. He’d never heard of Jubjub Rolling Racing, but yet it seemed so very much like the kingdom he was stuck in. Meridell, Neopia’s capital of the odd and vaguely cruel._

_He never said more than two words to Finley per night, but when he decided to change his life for good, that chatty old man was the only one he could think to tell._

_He had learned about the Thieves Guild through the little birds of the shanty towns; the whispers passed through bars and gangs about the largest, most feared society of robbers and con-men in all of Neopia. The Thieves Guild was ruthless, dangerous, and the best network of opportunity and protection a lowlife can find. It was devilishly alluring. Kanrik knew where he needed to be._

“ _So I there I was, baggusses all over the floor and the quiggle acrobat’s wife hanging from the rafters—“_

“ _I’m joining the Thieves Guild.”_

_The fire crackled into the inky sky as Kanrik’s words rose with them. Finley, for the first time since Kanrik had met him, had nothing to say._

_Nothing, except “…how?”_

“ _I have my eye on some wares that would endear me to them.”_

“ _That’s a ruthless organization, Kanrik. You have to be willing to do…pretty much anything. Their leader is a brute and a bully. Is that really what you want?”_

_Kanrik raised an eyebrow. “How do you know so much about them?”_

_Finley fixed his eyes on his bound and leathery feet. “I…crossed paths with them. A long time ago.”_

“ _In the rolling racing rings?”_

_Finley chuckled, but his solemn expression didn’t change. “Yeah. The ‘rolling racing rings.’ Didn’t like it, decided not to associate with them anymore. And…” he rubbed his feet together, “you’ve seen the rest.”_

_Finley never came to speak to Kanrik again after that night, even though by then Kanrik was already in the habit of making fires. He sat alone, watching them burn and crackle into the still air, and planned for his burglary._

_He had presented his royal jewels to Galem himself. It had required a few unconscious Meridell guards and avoiding a few blasts of faerie magic (something Kanrik never really trusted; the faeries had never done much for him, only seemed to cause him trouble), but the fine collection was worth it, and as much as Galem had tried to seem aloof, Kanrik could see the glint of impress in his eyes._

_He was admitted right then and there._

…

Kanrik watched her recover from a distance.

Every morning he told himself he’d leave. Every morning he’d look out to the sunrise and try to convince himself that today was the day, he was done, time to put this entire experience behind him. _You’d done your duty,_ he’d think, _more than it, in fact. You should have run off days ago with a few trinkets as a reward for bringing her this far._ But even when he had moved from his place by the window of Talia’s igloo and walk toward the door, he’d always found himself taking one last glance back against his better judgment. _Just one more, and then I’ll be gone. Just one._ He watched her lying there with tangled but soft brown hair splayed out in disarray around her head, frame rising slowly with breaths and, most of all, a red mark burning on her upper arm. The sight of the last always caused a curious weight in his stomach. And every time he’d looked, he’d stopped, sighed, cursed himself, and leaned back against the wall, sharpening his knife as if he was actually going to go out and steal something.

On one occasion, she briefly woke up to see him still leaning there. He saw a weary smile flicker across her face before being replaced by a smirk of disbelief.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked. Her voice was low and a bit raspy, like rusted pipes.

He shrugged his shoulders. A completely sincere gesture, because he didn’t know. In a few moments, she was asleep again, and he was alone with his thoughts once more.

He tried to watch the fire Armin had made; tried to study the flames dance and their light reflect across the snow walls, twinkling like tree lights in the Month of Celebrating. He tried to look out over the mountain and the view over the icy tundra, picking out the tracks of various species of wintery petpets before they were blown away by the piercing wind. But no matter how he tried to fill his mind with everything but her—the battle, the thieves guild he’d have to rebuild, the newly discovered bori—his thoughts always wandered to the little usul in the igloo behind him.

He was angry at her, just a little. What business did she have, being so lively and empathetic even when he was trying to manipulate her? How could accept him back after his betrayal? How could she, for the first time in his life, make him feel so indebted as to go out of his way to take her to safety? How could she still not let him feel like that debt was repaid so he could move on with his life?

It was then that he realized that as he carried her to Talia’s, holding her tight like precious cargo, he had not spared one thought for himself. He had been either staring at her pale face and begging her to continue breathing or to the path in front of him, practically praying to see Talia’s igloo glowing through the snow. His thoughts were so consumed by his debt to her that he hadn’t even noticed the strangeness of it all. No one, not even Masila with her enticing words and enchanting eyes, had managed that in _years_.

And that scared him.

He lowered his hood and pulled his cloak to cover his body.

…

Eventually, he did manage to leave.

He waited until she had been on her feet, and slipped away quietly in the night so she never had a chance to say goodbye. It was better that way, he figured, she could forget him more easily then...and vice versa.

But forget her he did not.

Not that he was too distracted; the Thieves Guild needed wrangling and it was his duty to hold the rope. The position of Leader was his by right after killing Galem, but that wasn’t going to win him the loyalty of everyone instantaneously. Even despite the changes he made in hopes of uniting them—he was to be the Leader, not Lord, because he was no King, and thieves could keep most of their earnings—Kanrik could feel the critical eyes on his back wondering how a quiet man in his twenties could have overpowered the fearsome Galem, especially one stupid and reckless enough to get involved with the manipulative Masila—the one Galem had long claimed as his. He found himself always working. His eyes stung with sleep deprivation and his every word bit with tired irritation. Yet he always had to give an air of cool confidence. He was being watched, studied, for any kind of weakness.

Kanrik came to power through betrayal and murder. You go the way you came.

Children scurried out of his path when he walked through camp. Their parents watched with nervous eyes, still unsure of how this new leader would treat them. Kanrik was not known to be especially cruel, of course. He knew that much of his reputation. But, he figured, people had been known to change in power.

He did nothing to allay the parents’ fears. He didn’t loosen his frown or slow his stride. He didn’t say words of patience and respect. What would he say, after all? That he’d give their children more than they’d had, a probably empty promise even if he tried his entire life? They were thief kids. They took what they could get. They would probably live under him dusty and barely fed enough, kicking and scratching each other and making more competition than friends, just as under Galem. At least cold silence meant never saying something weak. Or false.

He passed Des every once and a while. At the sight of her sliced ear, he subconsciously always tried to pull his cloak over the knife that had done it to her. _Because he still needed the loyalty of all thieves,_ he told himself when he realized what he was doing. She looked away, hardly ever speaking to him unless he was commanding the thieves.

Despite it all there were nights, however few, when the thieves returned with a comfortable haul, the sky was clear with the twinkling of stars, and warm wine filled everyone’s stomachs to a comfortable, calming weight, that he would find a quiet moment in his tent to clear his head. He’d watch his single candle waver in the slight breeze, its warm light casting shadows all around him. His mind would wander in the haze. His thoughts drifted over the oceans and past many lands, back to Terror Mountain where the little usul had lay—she would no doubt be recovered and back home by now, he thought—with similar flames warming her sick body. Somehow, his tired limbs ached less.

He’d catch himself quickly. No matter how calm the night was, there was no time for dreaming. Especially not about…some girl. Some girl he’d never see again, most likely, and certainly wouldn’t take an effort to do so. He’d then return to the jovial thieves or simply fall into a restless sleep, keeping one eye open like he always did.

But he knew something was very, very wrong the night his best lupe bandit, someone whose loyalty he needed to keep, managed to surprise when he was lost in thought.

“Sir?” the lupe asked, obviously confused when Kanrik didn’t hear him coming. The Master Thief should _always_ hear _everyone_ coming. Not to would be vulnerability that he couldn’t afford to show.

“What!?” Kanrik shouted and stood with a start. His chair nearly toppled under him and his hip rammed into his table, sending his candle shaking. He almost winced; he couldn’t have displayed his surprise more clearly if he’d tried too.

“If this is a bad time—“

“No. Everything is fine.” Kanrik stiffly readjusted his chair and sat down. He glared at the lupe, daring him to make another comment on the matter. “What is it?”

They were trivial things. Spats between guild members. Low level pickpockets with petty complaints. Missing treasures of little consequence. But things that needed to be addressed nonetheless.

He blew out his candle and followed the lupe out of his tent. His life needed him.

…

“ _You answer to me. You go where I tell you to go. All of your valuable finds come by me first. You shall refer to me as ‘my Lord’ unless I instruct you otherwise. Disobey me, and you’ll be severely punished. Betray me and you’ll be killed. Fail the Guild and you will be banished. And trust me, son, being a banished former member of the Guild is worse than never having been a member at all.”_

_At those last words, Kanrik’s mind drifted to Finley._

_He had to admit he was taken by surprise. A thief’s life was supposed to be free of laws and oversight, and here he was being ordered at like a groveling follower of a king. Then again, he supposed that Galem was a king, in a way. A king of outlaws with subjects more spread and numerous than any other ruler in Neopia._

_Galem kept a cold eye on him from behind his throne of stolen goods. Gold and crystals glittered over his table underneath maps of prime stealing spots. The pelts of the rarest of wild petpets were draped over the walls and the floor. Weapons from the Lost Desert to ancient Maraqua hung from a rack in the corner, and there were even what looked like faerie artifacts scattered across the room; Kanrik could almost feel the pulses of power emanating from them. Galem may dress like a thief, but the young gelert couldn’t imagine that anyone save Fyora herself had a collection this impressive. Now if Galem had any idea how to use any of the powerful objects in his possession, that was a different question altogether, and Kanrik had a feeling that the Galem didn’t have a slightest clue._

_If Kanrik had been more perceptive at the time, he may have noticed how Galem had deliberately walked him all the way across camp to this lavish tent when the conversation could have been held anywhere else, or the way the Thief Lord suspiciously side-eyed him whenever they weren’t looking directly at each other, or perhaps how he had always stood with his chest wide when Kanrik sat, like a giant noil puffing up his mane to seem bigger than he is. Kanrik may have noticed that, even then, it seemed Galem had a hunch._

_If there was any thief in the camp that could take him from power, it was the gelert boy who hadn’t yet realized his own skill._

“ _Stop twitching those ears, boy; nervous ticks will be the death of you and I can’t afford it.”_

_Kanrik obeyed._

…

He shouldn’t have taken the job on Krawk Island.

When the thieves reported of a recently discovered treasure trove hidden under an unremarkable pawn shop on the most wretched and beloved hive of all Neopia, Kanrik’s immediate thought was to tend to it himself.

He wondered if he simply forgets, sometimes, that he is the Master Thief now who should be sending subordinates to do his dirty work. No, he simply misses the thrill, and after months of sitting in his tent drawing strategy on maps or divvying out nightly shares of loot taken in by his agents, he couldn’t describe how he loved getting out into a chilled night. It was an indescribable sensation, soundlessly running through the dim streets, and feeling the adrenaline pump in his blood as he ran his fingers through glinting gold before tossing it into his satchel. It was like relapsing on a glorious drug.

As he slinked through the streets the next night on the hunt for more, smaller pockets to pick, he found himself standing in front of a very familiar tavern. Singing and laughter from sailors of all walks of life emanated from every window, but one voice stood out in particular to him.

_It couldn’t possibly. By Fyora._

Perhaps the exhaustion had gotten to him and addled his wits. In any case, he was a foolish man indeed, because suddenly he thought that he could use a drink.

 _I shouldn’t go in,_ he told himself as he went in.

Kanrik slid into a rickety chair in the farthest corner of the tavern. The walls of cramped building seemed to creak and shudder under its weight, and his sensitive gelert nose twitched with an overwhelming stench of alcohol, aged leather, and rot, while the clicks, clangs, and shouts at beleaguered waitresses nearly drowned him. He hoped no one recognized him from his last visit here, and from the sound of the continued bustle, that seemed to be the case. It figured; the bar was the type of place where no one asked questions as long as you could pass over a pretty dubloon, be the passer a cabin boy or a wanted killer. Or, perhaps, the Leader of the Thieves Guild.

A zafara waitress approached him with a smile. Her dress hung off her shoulder and corset was laced tight. She tossed a curly hair, escaped from her elaborately pinned up-do, from her flirtatious painted eyes. Despite his stealthy line of work, Kanrik did have an appreciation for Neopians who got by through completely abandoning the art of subtlety.

“Anything I can get you, sir?” she said, slowly and deliberately as she batted her eyes.

He’d been around long enough to recognize the way she looked him over. Usually he would have seriously considered the unspoken aspect of her question, but he found himself too…tired? Distracted? Simply not interested today.

“Just a whiskey, thanks,” he replied dismissively. A look of disappointment crossed her face, and when she turned to see where he was looking, she smirked.

“Figures,” she mumbled before she flounced off.

He just then realized he had been watching Hannah.

“No one has met a more fearless, daring, accomplished treasure hunter than me! I am the one the ghosts and ghouls fear, I am…” Figures, indeed. That woman had long turned lacking subtlety into an art form in itself.

A few jaunties later, Kanrik stared intently and unblinking at his drink till his eyes burned. Every once in a while, he spared a glance towards her. Hannah lofted her sloshing mug to the air as she spun on the table, singing a bawdy and rather vulgar song (as well as catchy, as he had to stop himself from humming along), her brown hair as wild as her stories and dancing around her as she moved. She laughed, boasted, and mocked her rivals, eyes gleaming with mischief. He nearly smiled; it’s amazing how little she changed over the course of the war. He admired her for that, just a little.

Kanrik let his hood fall farther over his face and forced himself to ignore her. The annoyance he felt watching her at Terror Mountain flared again; why was he here? Why did he care what Hannah was doing? Why was he wasting his time like this? His mug slammed on the table.

He didn’t see her eyes finally lift to him as he walked out, nor did he hear her call out his name.

…

The stars pierced into the inky blackness of the sky, and Kreludor glowed in the waves of the Krawk Island Pier. The water sloshed peacefully against the docks, breaking the quiet. It was a lovely night, by all accounts; that is, all except Kanrik’s. Silent, steady anger bubbled inside him as he slid his finger over one of his knives and watched the moonlight flicker on its polished surface.

His ride home was late.

Whoever was sailing this ship would be punished in time; there is nothing more important to a thief than a hasty escape, and though he was keeping alert in case of an ambush, he could feel anxiety rise in his bones. He kept his hood down, but every so often his long ears twitched in frustration and anticipation. He gritted his teeth. The twitching was a habit that he had rid of in his early days in the Thieves Guild, but sometimes it resurfaced…usually when he had a lot on his mind. Which was often, these days.

More often than he could afford.

Kanrik sighed, and his breath ghosted into the cold night. Part of him thought this transition into power would be…smoother. Perhaps if he had the good sense to just quietly stab Galem in his sleep and take over like a normal usurper, that would have been the case, but there he had to go and get himself involved with—

He heard someone step towards him.

He knew it was towards him; it was not the fast pace of a late night traveler knowing he shouldn’t be near the docks this late, or the slow listless saunter of an off-duty bar maid waiting for lonely sailors to supplement her meager income. It was a deliberate, cautious step in his direction, and he reached for his knife from his belt. Their scent…it was familiar, but he couldn’t place them. From the side of his eye, he could see a small dark figure approach him.

“What are you doing here?” the figure asked, “I didn’t think I’d ever see _you_ again.”

“Of course,” Kanrik whispered. Who else would he be expecting?

“Are you following me?” Hannah asked, stepping into the light. Her hair was tied back and her limbs were limp, and was that sweat on the collar of her dress?

“Don’t tell me the incredible legendary Hannah has exerted herself bragging on a barroom table,” Kanrik replied coolly, leaning against the wall in an intentional display of nonchalance.

Hannah raised her eyebrows. “Tell me one thing I said that wasn’t—“

“I’m fairly certain that you had _not,_ in fact, knocked over six ice soldiers with one push or,” he mimicked her accent slightly, “ ‘ _single handedly_ discovered and saved a new species, tell me you old scallywag, how many of you in here have done _that?_ ’”

“Oh, look who’s found a sense of humor,” Hannah deadpanned as she swaggered closer to him, and he wondered why his first instinct was to scoot away. “By Fyora, it’s a miracle.”

“I suppose so.”

She rolled her eyes, and he resisted the temptation to say that he’d always had a sense of humor, and just because _she_ hadn’t seen it yet…

“Ok, I may have stretched the truth…a little. That’s what you gotta do with those boys. But you still didn’t answer my question.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I was not following you. I was stealing something. I do that on occasion.”

“Oh, there’s that sense of humor again. Incredible.” Hannah shook her head, waving him away. “And to answer _your_ question, it s 3 am, I’ve been drinking all night, and yes, I’m a bit tired. Plus drunk, which is why I’m still out here talking to you. I may be the greatest adventurer to ever live,” she gave him a smug smirk, and he returned it, “but I do have a mortal Neopian body.”

“Faeries forbid.”

“Goodnight, Kanrik. Enjoy your thieving,” she sang and turned to walk away, and before he could think, before he could even realize what he was doing, Kanrik did the worst thing he thought he could do at that moment.

“There’s word of treasure hidden on Mystery Island and I’d like you to help me find it. I’m going next month.”

She stopped, but didn’t face him. There was silence for a few moments, and she started to touch her shoulder…he felt the curious weight in his stomach from all those months ago return. How foolish of him, how stupid! He hadn’t even intended to ask her. He didn’t _want_ her along. And of _course_ she’d say no, after—

“I’m guessing it’s near Geraptiku,” Hannah mumbled.

“Yes.” Cursed, dangerous Geraptiku. “You of all people must know how awful those temples are when it comes to traps.”

“Actually, I’ve never been there,” she glanced back at him, face surprisingly timid looking, “but I have thought about it…you’re positive you’re not just vying for more cannon fodder?” There was a touch of weak playfulness in her voice, but Kanrik could see through it; this was a perfectly genuine question. The weight got deeper.

He nodded. “If I just wanted that, I have plenty more trustworthy candidates back home. “

“I get half of the treasure.”

Kanrik scoffed, pushing from his place on the wall. “Half? Absolutely not. I was the one who got all the information about this!”

“And I’ll be the one setting and avoiding all the traps, right?” Hannah gave him a pointed look, with that smug smirk Kanrik was sure would drive him crazy. “If you don’t like it, you can deal with the arrows yourself.”

He groaned, running two fingers down his muzzle. “Fine. You win. Half of what we get, _if_ you are successful in getting both of us through the city without any injury.”

“Alright then, next month. Send me a message as to when specifically and I’ll meet you at the port.”

“It’s a—“ and before he could say “deal”, she had disappeared. The street was once again empty and quiet in the pale moonlight. A scrap of paper blew over the cobblestone. A woman laughed in the distance, and he thought he might have heard uni hooves clop before they faded away.

 _Must be how she avoided all of those traps and monsters._ Kanrik shook his head at his own stupidity for asking her along. Sure, it was purely business; not even _platonic._ But he did leave her for dead, and that might encourage her to being emotions into this ordeal. He didn’t need to deal with those kinds of emotions. Hers, anyway. He had no problems controlling his.

Still, he had to wonder what he had gotten himself into. You’d think, at some point, he’d have learned what happens when you mix thieving with feeling.


	2. Chapter 2

_Masila had been looking at him before he looked at her._

_Kanrik had barely been in the Thieves Guild for a week. She was far on the other side of the table of this feast, running a small hand over her wineglass and keeping her icy blue eyes trained on him. She looked him up and down like she was memorizing every feature. Kanrik had been stared at before, certainly. He had been the recipient of many a flirtatious look from many a confused young shopkeeper unaware that he was relieving him from their wares. But he had never been looked at the way she was then, drinking him in. When she realized he was looking back, she smiled low and satisfied._

_She was older than him, certainly. He was never exactly sure how much, but at that moment she seemed in her mid-twenties, and damn if she wasn’t beautiful._

“ _Who’s the woman next to Galem?” he whispered to a fellow thief, not quite able to hide the interest in his voice. When he turned towards them, he saw a rapidly shaking head._

“ _Whoa there, kid,” the camouflage cybunny had said, “No. Don’t get any ideas. That’s Masila, and she and Galem have been involved for years. Name’s Des, by the way.”_

“ _Kanrik. Years?” He glanced back at Masila, not long enough for her to notice him looking. “Well, she’s been staring at me.”_

“ _I’ll admit, you’re a good-lookin’ boy,” Des chuckled. Kanrik knew the comment wasn’t flirtatious; rather, at the woman’s age, it seemed almost matronly. “I’d see why she’d take interest in you. She has a wandering eye, sure, and Galem can’t do much about that, but he will slit the throat of any man who gets within ten feet of her.” The thief took a long sip of her drink. “Trust me, I’ve seen him do it. Heard of others too. And I hear everything.” She pointed at her long cybunny ears, which to her word made tiny little twitches at every sound. Not of nervousness, but of alertness, constantly scanning her surroundings. “Plus, she’s so shady she makes the rest of us look like members of the Defenders.”_

_If there was anything Kanrik didn’t need, it was to get on Galem’s bad side like that this early in the game. He swore to himself that he’d avoid her._

_That lasted till nightfall._

_She entered his tent, as silent as a faellie. When he spun to meet her, she put a cold hand on his shoulder and a finger to her lips._

“ _I had heard of your skills around camp; that you had stolen from the faeries themselves as just a young man.” He opened his mouth to reply, but she leaned in closer and whispered, “I had not heard that you were so handsome as well.” Suddenly, the sounds of the night and bustle of the camp quieted and seemed hauntingly distant._

_She raised her hand on his shoulder to stroke his cheek before dropping to his chest. He let her. Des’ warnings rang in his mind briefly before fading away._

_What had he gotten himself into? He thought for a moment before she kissed him._

…

“Oooo-kay.” Hannah squinted at the stone tablet in front of her, tapping her chin rhythmically. “If I’m reading this right, the third floor is home to a ‘terrible fate becoming to those who intrude upon it,’ which usually means a bad trap, which also usually means we’re getting warmer. I say we head there.”

“When, exactly, did you get the time to learn multiple ancient languages? In between shifts at the Golden Dubloon?”

“Yeah, actually,” Hannah turned to smile sweetly at him with her distinct shine of condescension in her eyes, “it’s called _reading_.”

“Hm.” Kanrik leaned back against a tree as she spun back on her heels, watching her further study the tablet in front of her. Dirt and sand crumbled to the ground as she slid her hand over the ancient markings, and her tail flicked back and forth like a restless puppyblew. He imagined her thoughts impatiently shifted and raced the same way in that impish mind of hers.

The sun bore down hot and the air nearly dripped with humidity, and as Kanrik swatted away about three different species of petpetpets he was reminded why he had never taken a job on this cursed island. Given the choice, he’d take the searing dry heat of Lost Desert sands over this steaming hell any day.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so hot if you took off that huge cloak,” Hannah piped, jotting down her last note on a piece of parchment.

“How did you—?”

“You're panting. Why do you wear that thing, anyway? It’s not like you have any hearts to strike fear in right now.”

He tensed, scoffed, and turned away. She, much to his chagrin, kept talking.

“You know what I think?” she said as the stone door opened with a deep groan, “I think it’s a security blanket. You think you wear it to look all dark and mysterious,” she mock swooned at the last words and he rolled his eyes, “but really you just want to hide as much of your face and body as you can. When you’re afraid of your real identity, you make the cloak the identity.”

He said nothing. He kept his eyes fixed on the path into the tomb. He wouldn’t justify that with a response.

She shrugged, “Or maybe you just don’t mind risking heat stroke for the sake of aesthetic. Either one is equally plausible.”

They entered the damp, dripping darkness in tense silence, and Kanrik lit a torch from his belt. The door closed behind them with a _boom_ that shook the entire hall, pebbles raining down from the ceiling and a deep groan coming from the walls.

“How secure is this tomb?” he hissed at his companion as he caught his balance.

“How should I know?” She swiped the torch from him. He was about to protest, until it occurred to him that she was in front and it did, indeed, make more sense for her to hold it. If she could make him forget common sense so quickly, maybe this was an absurdly bad idea. “You were the one who was supposed to organize all the intel on this. I’m just the one with the incredible treasure-hunting skills to get us there.”

Kanrik studied the ceiling. There was no more shaking or cracks, and the stones were pressed snugly in their places…with the exception of his adrenaline-addled heart and mind, everything seemed stable. “Alright. Let’s keep going.”

“Well…” Hannah mumbled, kicking debris out of her way and raising the torch to illuminate the walls, “at least I can be sure that this isn’t another assassination attempt. Unlikely the cold-hearted Thieves Lord would kill himself in the process too, from the stories I’ve heard.”

That perked Kanrik’s long ears. “Unlikely indeed. And what have you heard?” Though with a huff to the side he added “I’m not a _lord_.”

Hannah chuckled. “Just that you’re gloomy and aloof. Cold and untrusting to most of the thieves, which if you ask me is another way of saying paranoid.”

“Or reasonable. I work with thieves, not knights.” A pause. “Though in my experience, they aren’t saints either.”

“I was raised by pirates. I’m not going to argue with you,” she laughed. Suddenly, Hannah stopped with a start, squinting at the empty air in front of her. She waved a hand in front of herself.

“What are you—“Hannah shoved her other hand hard against his stomach, and Kanrik fell back with an “oomph!” at her surprising strength. Before he could blink, a flurry of arrows flashed in front of his eyes with a hiss before disappearing into the dark holes in the wall opposite.

He stared at the dust flurrying in the space in front of him for a moment. Then, he breathed. “You’re good, I’ll give you that.”

She gave him an infuriatingly confident smile. “I know.”

…

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

A musky smell drifted through the heavy air in the room. The trove was ravaged, with only a few strips of stray cloth, uprooted mold, and a mockingly empty wooden chest to indicate that anything had been there at all. Kanrik bit his lip; either someone back at camp didn’t respect him as much as they should or needed a stern talking-to, perhaps with a few threats. Or someone else intercepted.

“No no no…there has to be more clues…I followed everything exactly…” Hannah skittered across the room, desperately feeling the ground for carvings or uneven bricks. “Help me!” she snapped at him through her teeth.

“I don’t even know what we’d look for,” he sighed. He ran a hand over his forehead before grabbing Hannah’s shoulder to stop her from digging at the hard stone.

“Funny,” she grumbled, pouting like a child, “that a Master Thief would give up so fast.”

“Thieves know when a job is busted!” he growled back at her, yanking away his hand. “This place is ridden with more traps, not to mention the possibility of cave ins. The risk isn’t worth the gain.”

“My job isn’t busted until I find something,” he heard her mumble, and he groaned. His eyes slid over to her, expecting a site that would make him want to throw up his hands and storm out of this labyrinth (he willed himself to forget that he would immediately need to return and ask for her help in finding his way out). Instead, he fought a chuckle in the back of his throat. There on the ground was a grown woman, legs flopped in front of her and arms crossed tight, huffing her sweaty hair out of her eyes.

“If only they could see the magnificent Hannah no—“

“Can it.”

In the end, there were a few trinkets and chests of coins here and there to salvage, but nothing he could hold up the thieves in triumph and nothing that remotely compared to the pirate treasure to which his companion was accustomed. Hannah walked back out the tomb in a testy slump, kicking rocks and swatting petpetpets as if they themselves had dastardly run off with her prize. Kanrik was very much annoyed, but not livid; a thief had to understand that some leads wouldn’t work out. Hannah, he figured, had long been exploring areas that no other Neopian had dared touch. She maybe understood not finding what she was looking for, but not someone getting to it before her.

What he didn’t want to see, however, was a dark night sky over them when they emerged.

“Where exactly was this ride back?” Hannah grumbled. “Judging by the moon, it has to be almost midnight.” It was getting harder to see her now, with the trees covering the moonlight. That, of course, meant that it would be much harder to see someone—or something—who was more than cross with him.

“They’d have assumed I was held up and left by now.”

Her face dropped from frustration to dread. “So now what?”

“We could go back to the village.”

“We wouldn’t get there until almost three in the morning. No one will take us at that hour. Besides, that’s assuming we can make it back in this dark.” She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and tapped her foot, baring the same kind of aggressive smile that should be _his_ area of expertise. “This is just a grand night, ain’t it?”

“We’ll have to camp out,” Kanrik groaned. He pointed towards the path they had come in the forest, shrouded in darkness and the mixed squeaks, rustles, and chirps of petpets and petpetpets. “There was a clearing a little ways down. Let’s just get there and make a fire.”

Hannah continued to frown, but she followed him. Any worries he harbored of her continuing to stomp through the woods like an annoyed child were quelled, however, when she began slipping though the trees so quietly that he occasionally looked back to see if he lost her. Even his own feet snapped more twigs and rustled more leaves as they slowly walked through, and he was usually so quiet that some victims had thought him a ghost.

He really should know her too well enough by now for that to surprise him, he realized. He quickly silenced the thought. Distance, he insisted to himself, you’re maintaining distance.

“You’re very talented at stealth,” he spit out before he stopped himself, and then had to stop himself from slapping his forehead. Were his ears twitching again?

“Oh, thanks...you’re obviously not bad yourself.”

“…Thank you,” he stated plainly, and their conversation stopped. The sounds of the jungle filled the quiet, and Kanrik prayed to see the clearing ahead of him.

“Why are your ears twitching?”

“No reason!” he snapped this time, tensing his muscles and locking them in place.

“It looks like a nervous tick to me.”

“It’s absolutely not. I have no reason to be nervous.”

“You’re not that hard to read, Kanrik,” Hannah walked ahead past him, poking him in the shoulder playfully. He scowled harder under his hood—what he wouldn’t do to stop her from being so irritatingly _confident._ There were plenty who thought they could read him: from fighting opponents who fancied themselves able to read his next move when they had no idea what was about to hit them, to foolish young women and men alike who thought they had flirted him into a stupor when he was robbing them blind, to Masila, who thought she had him in the palm of her clawed hand when he wasn’t even entirely convinced he loved her. And for all of those people, he had purposefully had them come to that conclusion. Hannah came to all on her own. Plus, he suspected she was actually right.

Fyora help him.

At long last, they came to the clearing. Rocks and rotten fruits from the trees still scattered the ground, but it had to do for the night…wanderers can’t be choosers.

Hannah built a small fire as Kanrik cleared out the ground. Every so often, they’d meet eyes, only to occupy themselves again in a flash. Even if there wasn’t anything to do. Hannah pulled some palm leaves off the trees and lay them out in front of the fire. Kanrik simply lay down, curled in his cloak. The air had chilled, now in a damp cool that was enough to send him shivvering.

And Hannah, uncovered by anything but leaves, even moreso.

“Do you want to...” he said, barely loud enough for her to hear, “share my cloak?”

Hannah looked up wide eyed. “What?”

He knew they were picturing the same image: them huddled together under his cape. His cloak was big, but not big enough to avoid that, and damned if he was just going to give it to her altogether. She would have to be tucked into his side. For all she knew, that was his real intention. “For utilitarian reasons, of course. It’s warmer.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, curling back into her leaves. He nodded through his silent relief. She didn’t quite hide her continued shivering. The curious weight arose again. His mind flashed to another time that he saw her shivvering, pale and weak and barely holding onto life simply because in a moment she had not been useful to him. Kanrik knew it wasn’t the same situation, not at all, but...

He wasn’t used to guilt. He didn’t like it, not at all.

It took her several more minutes to finally sleep, but when she did, he quietly stood and draped his cloak over her. He barely slept that night, but at least that meant that he was awake to swipe it off her again when the sun began to slowly, barely rise. He tied it against himself and rolled over as if he’d been that way all night.

She awoke grumbling, aching, and bitten, but still alive. They hiked through the remaining of the woods in near silence, and Kanrik could only thank the stars that she didn’t seem to realize what he’d done the night before.

As they reached the edge of town, Kanrik looked out to the sunrise over the empty horizon. The ferries wouldn’t start till daylight, which means they had a few minutes to kill. And honestly, he could go for something a little bitter and mind numbing after this ordeal.

“If you want to make this trip less of a waste,” he said, “there’s an island bar not too far from here and…”

“Woah there, buddy!” she laughed in shock, stepping back and waving her hand in front of her, “we may be on decent terms right now, but we are nowhere near ‘getting drinks’ level of—“

“That’s not what I meant,” Kanrik interrupted icily.

She studied him for a moment with a quizzical gaze before tutting and turning her head away. “Of course, silly me. Though I appreciate the desire to drink this day away, I think I’ll pass.”

Kanrik sighed. His throat was achingly dry and he truly did want that drink. If only the action didn’t have such pervasive connotations…and after all they’d been through, how is a simple drink between business partners—which is all they truly were—such an inconceivable concept?

“We could always try one more time,” Hannah suddenly stated, cutting into the brightening morning. “Treasure hunting, I mean.”

Well.

He was silent for a long while, feeling her eyes on him. Her face fell as his cold hesitation continued, and she was just about to open her mouth to take the statement back when he suddenly spoke.

“I think that would be a good idea. Overall we work well together.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her gently nod.

He looked down to her not-quite-blank face, a mirror image of his own predicament in her expression: uncertainty.

A thief should always know where he last step and exactly what stood before him. You never rob a house you haven’t scoped out; you never break in to a place you don’t know the way out of; you never set a trap when you’re not sure of the result. Yet, here he was, giving up his last chance to easily walk away from this usul girl and leave her out of his life for good. No matter how many times he told himself that this was nothing, that she was just a colleague, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking down a road when he had no idea where it lead, and it will be one of those paths on which there is no backtracking.

He hasn’t felt this kind of uncertainty many times in his life, and when he did, it usually sailed in accompanied by a sinking feeling of dread.

They stood there in a weighty silence as the sun finally rose above the orange horizon.

…

_Masila came to him every month, under the mask of nightfall and the allure of danger. He never knew when her visits would come, and he never asked her in the day even when they were alone; somehow he knew she had no interest in relinquishing that control._

_Then it was every week. She would slink into his tent with a smile born of pure greed before slowly taking his shoulders and pressing their lips together, silencing any words on his tongue. Not that he minded much; he didn’t know much about her outside her physical attributes, and she felt the same towards him. For now, at least._

_To be honest, they rarely spoke to each other._

_In the day, Galem’s building resentment towards Kanrik seemed to dissipate and be replaced with mildly suspicious respect, much to Kanrik’s relief and slight amusement. Not just because Galem’s most prized possession decided to stretch her limits with his subordinate. Kanrik was bringing in more loot more often than anyone his age, and everyone noticed. The boy was also attracting a small throng of followers, mostly awed young adults and teenagers, who would stand at attention whenever Kanrik flashed the blade of his knife and constantly begged him for guidance. Most impressive to them, however, was that no matter their station within the Guild, he would actually give it. But in front of his leader, Kanrik hid it all. Part of him still relished Galem’s nods of approval when Kanrik handed over his loot, and he would defend him if an outsider said a poisonous word. But he knew his heart had a spark of rebellion, and his lackeys knew to hide their shifting loyalty as well._

_Des, however, kept an eye on him, and she was always quick to show her concern._

“ _This is a bad idea, Kanrik. Bad,” she scolded one night as she burst through the flap of his tent, “You don’t know what people are saying.” He sighed and leaned back further on his chair._

“ _What is that?” he replied with a smirk, rolling his eyes behind his closed lids. He was more careful than she knew, he thought. She worried too much. She thought him a child._

“ _Believe it or not, Galem knows the ones that want him gone, for the most part,” she said just over a breath—never know who might be listening at the door, she always said. “Maybe even the ones closest to him…you know what they say about keeping your enemies closer. But the ones he likes the least have been talking about you, saying you’re better than him and should be our leader.”_

Maybe I am _, he thought for a moment._ Stop that foolishness, _he then told himself._

“ _Look.” Des sat across from him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “You’re smart and talented, Kanrik. That can be good or bad in this place. You need to think about your safety. No one can take down Galem. Many have tried and failed. I’m not saying you’d never be his successor, but you’re too young. And the best course of action would be to get him to trust you enough to_ choose _you.”_

“ _I’m not going to try and kill Galem, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s absurd and suicidal, like you said.”_

“ _Watch your disciples, then.” Des gave him a pointed look, and lowered her voice even further, “I saw that girl today tell you that you’re the greatest, scariest thief on the camp. Which means others think that too.”_

_Somewhere deep down, Kanrik knew that this was a very unwise thing to encourage, but those words were drugs to him that he didn’t think he was strong enough to give up._

“ _And I also have heard tell that some of them bring you their wares before Galem.”_

_Also true. Also truly dangerous. Also truly appealing._

“ _Ok, I’ll put a stop to it,” he lied. “But it’s…uh, getting late. You best leave.”_

_The cybunny sighed roughly, and her face fell to a glare. A brown ear twitched. “She’s coming, isn’t she?”_

“… _yes.” No need to lie to her about this. She was one of the first to know, and she wasn’t foolish enough to tell Galem. Besides, she hears everything._

“ _She’s dangerous.”_

“ _I know,” he said bluntly. Her admonishing was getting on his nerves. As was her constant demands he control his ambition, while at the same time he had a certain other woman whispering in his ear to cultivate it. By the time Masila was visiting him almost every night, and even stealing moments when the sun was high in the sky._

_Des looked at him again, this time almost in sadness. “You need to convince Galem that you’re loyal if you’re going to make it.” She stood to leave, but let her hand drift on his arm as she walked away. When Masila visited that night, Kanrik contemplated his words as he lay next to her. He still took Galem’s orders, still called him his Lord, still looked up to him in his own way. However, when he was feeling daring, he would walk away with a grimace. Kanrik was, after all, apparently superior to him in more ways than one._

…

As it turned out, “one more time” was not “one more time” at all.

An artifact unearthed in Tyrannia. A lovely hoard of jewels in Shenkuu. Even a cursed tomb in the Haunted Woods.

Nearly once a month either Kanrik or Hannah got a call from the other, saying that they were their best option, really, this was a two man job, and if it wasn’t an inconvenience could they…

It was happening on such a regular basis, in fact, that whispers inevitably started to flow over the camp; why was their leader stepping out on these secret missions? Why every month? Why did he always return just slightly lighter in spirits?

Once, a trip to Brightvale had ended in them running from spells and spears with a bursting bag of loot in their hands, until somehow in their hurry they caught themselves in a tangle and tripped into rolling down a hill. They bumbled and bounced, grass and mud flying into the faces and smearing into their clothes. It seemed to do them well, however, because the guards lost sight of them, even when they clumsily bumped to a stop at the valley of the hill. Hannah lay flat on her back in ecstatic laughter as Kanrik brushed himself off in annoyance.

“Did you see the head of the guards lose his head when his men zapped his helmet right off?” She gasped for air between in her mirth, “Ah, these Brightvallians can act so high and noble all they want but they are no better than the Meridellians underneath it all!” And he watched her, and he saw her enormous grin, and he saw her bask in the hot sun that reflected with a glint in her hair. And his heart felt lighter, and his mind drifted back to the girl in the igloo all those months ago…until she broke his trance with an “Alright, enough games. Let’s get out of here.”

But as the trips grew more frequent, Kanrik and Hannah knew less and less what to do with their endings. They would ride the boat home in silence, tapping fingers on the wood and shifting feet. There was an odd emptiness to their goodbyes, after the day of teamwork, money, and even the occasional laughter. There seemed to be something missing when they simply walked their separate ways.

More than once he was parched for a drink.

…

One night, when Hannah had actually reached out to thump his arm as they parted (she hadn’t touched him—not really—since the Bori War, and Kanrik tried to ignore the strange burn in the spot) he returned to camp deep in unsettled thought, only to find a section of it in chaos. As it turned out, a baby had been born…the first in the Guild under Kanrik’s watch.

Well, he had to honor that, didn’t he?

There were gasps as he approached, and the small crowd of onlookers parted in half with wide eyes as he walked through them. When he pulled back the tent flap, the mother, a shockingly young white ixi, tore her teary eyes away from her newborn to look up at Kanrik in a mixture of awe and alarm.

“Yes, my lo—sir?” she whispered. Her grip on her child reflexively tightened. He wasn’t sure why she was so frightened; he was only standing there.

“I want to congratulate you.” He nodded at the baby (a red Xweetok, making Kanrik wonder who the father was…though it didn’t always matter, when it came to species) with a small, friendly smile. “What is your child’s name?” A hushed “oh” echoed over the growing audience.

“…R-Reageus,” she said just over a breath.

“Well,” He bent to be at level. She studied him, eyes quivering nervously. Slowly, Kanrik extended his arms. It wasn't a conscious action, but it seemed the proper thing to do in the moment, or at least he hoped. Kanrik had hardly ever held a baby before--not since he was a child with the travelers. The girl's eyes widened, and her grip on her child first seemed to tighten, until the older Neopians urged her forward with equally tense whispers. When the bundled baby was placed gingerly in his arms, he rose (the girl's mouth clamping over her instinctive protest). He ran a hand over his forehead. “Reageus, welcome to the Thieves Guild. May you live a long and successful life here.” The baby was still small and shriveled, but it shifted, ever so slightly.  Kanrik kneeled again and handed him back to his mother, before laying a hand on the ixi’s shoulder, “he looks like a fine, healthy lad. You should be proud.” The murmuring in the crowd grew louder.

“T-thank you, sir. I am,” she stared up at him as if he were Fyora herself blessing her child for all his life. In that moment, he realized that she was young enough that, even if she too was born into the Guild, she would have only really ever known Galem as a leader. He would never have honored a newborn, but looked at it with disdain and belittled the mother for even bringing it near him. Babies were, to him, temporary, loud nuisances on the road to more assets later.

Somehow, the idea filled Kanrik with his own sense of pride. He may be young, he may not look particularly strong, but at least he thought of his followers as people. As he turned from the mother and walked back into the parted crowd, he reveled in their looks of astonishment.

At the edge of the throng, he heard whispers just over the usual chatter.

“See? I told you he was running off to see someone. Why else would he be like this?”

“Nah, I think he’s just a better man than Galem.”

“No doubt.” In that moment, those words were like a song to his ears. “but I’m telling you: he’s seeing someone. Having some secret love affair.”

“Doesn’t explain the loot he brings back every time.”

“Eh, he can pick some up on the way. I’m telling you: seeing someone. Probably a woman. Passionate, forbidden love.”

 _Well_ , he thought in amusement, _they’re half right._

He was nearly to his tent, still high on his adventure and the words of respect he had earned, when a small, raspy voice sneered below him with a familiar cutting chuckle.

“Sorry display, my lord.”

“You _know_ I don’t like being called that, Valin,” Kanik snapped, clenching his fist right at the eyelevel of the deceptively small and quiet blue mynci.

“Apologies, master.” The other thief leaned against a scratched wooden post, hood hiding his shifty eyes. Valin’s smile had no element of endearment, nor was it particularly sinister; in all these months, Kanrik still hadn’t figured where his loyalties lay. He hoped the man, who was a bandit of considerable talents, was like most members of the guild: went where the wind blows. “Can’t blame me for force of habit.”

Kanrik huffed, looking back towards his increasingly inviting tent. “If you have nothing more to say to me—“

“Shouldna done that, sir. That thing with the baby.”  
Kanrik turned to him with a cocked eyebrow. “And why not?”

Valin chuckled again, low and _definitely_ sinister. “Some higher-ups already think yer too soft. Just make them think that more. Thinking they can take you down. Tryna figure out where you been going. Seeing if you have weaknesses.”

Narrowing his eyes and clenching his teeth, the Master Thief’s voice went dark. “The ‘higher-ups’ can think whatever they want. I am still the leader of this guild. _Their_ leader. Nowhere I may be going is going to change that.” Kanrik pulled up Valin’s hood with a tight fist (the man reacting with a surprised yelp), revealing his masked eyes. “They may not think I’m a strong enough, but the sentiment is not shared among the majority of this camp.” He turned away for the last time and walked unrelenting to his tent, head just as high as before.

“The baby folk ain’t the ones controlling things. The higher-ups don’t think they gotta worry ‘bout what they think.”

Kanrik paused just before the flap of his tent. “That’s what Galem thought, too, and look where he is.” He closed the flap behind him, surrounding himself with peaceful darkness.

Finally, his shoulders slumped, and he sighed deeply.


	3. Chapter 3

_They say that after your first kill, the horror of the act is gone. It’s easy, even._

_Kanrik wasn’t sure if that was true, but as he dipped back into the shadows of the alley away from the nimmo’s unmoving body, still bleeding from where his blade had rammed into chest, he almost hoped this would become as blasé as everyone said it would. His hand was still shaking as it gripped his stained knife even tighter, squeezing like the metal could bend under his fingers._

_In all his years of thieving, it had never gotten this far. He wasn’t sure if that was a testament to his talents or dumb luck. People would drop their bags when he pressed his weapon of choice to their necks, or he could simply cut their purses without them even noticing. If he had to cause trauma, a hard hit to the head usually knocked them out cold and he got away with whatever he fancied._

_Not this time. This one had been persistent._

_It was an heirloom, the lanky Neopet had cried. It was passed on through countless generations. He paid off his debt to the Thieves Guild years ago, too! He wouldn’t let them control him forever!_

_Kanrik almost considered letting him go. It was not inconceivable, after all, that everything he had said was true. Galem was probably not above calling in fake debts to past cohorts in an attempt to make a quick neopoint._

_But that very man’s own words echoed in his ear: “Disobey me, and you’ll be severely punished. Betray me and you’ll be killed. Fail the Guild and you will be banished.” Kanrik could already feel Galem’s cold stare on him, could already sense the fear of being the target of every Thieves Guild member all over the planet after this mistake, shivering and kicked aside like Finley, making up stories to hide his past. That is, if he wasn’t executed first._

“ _Hand it over or I’ll make you,” the boy growled. The Nimmo gulped._

“ _Do it,” he squeaked. Then, clenching his fists, he said with a little more force, “You don’t even look twenty. I doubt you even could.”_

_With a curl of his lip, Kanrik plunged his knife into the man’s chest and grabbed the trinket as he collapsed. Drops of blood landed on his boot._

_The fact that Galem gave him a dismissive nod as he handed it over didn’t help calm his rapidly beating heart. He could tell Des sensed his unease when he passed her. She looked at him with concern. He nodded at her, though his hands shook. That night, when Masila reclined gracefully over his chair with a contented hum, he confessed to her the images that had been relentlessly playing in his head like he was cursed._

“ _I killed a man today,” he said, feeling like he had just bore the darkest part of his soul. Which he had._

“ _So?” she replied._

_He turned to her in surprise, but for the sake of his pride he stopped himself from saying more. It took her a moment, but after her eyes lit up in realization she let out a chorus of bell-like laughs._

“ _Oh, you sweet thing, this was your first time, wasn’t it?” she cooed, and he frowned, “while I’m impressed that you got this far without a death, I assure you that killing is a rather simple task in the art of thievery.” She gave him a sympathetic smile, “I promise your second time will not be nearly as daunting.”_

_He turned away from her to hide his unsure face._

_In the end, though, she was right. The second time he shook far less, and even held down his turning stomach just long enough to check the crumpled body for some extra loot. Eventually, the act of cleaning blood off his blades was a simple nightly inconvenience._

…

It was on the trip back to the Lost Desert when everything undeniably changed.

He placed the scrawled note between his table and hand, rereading the words in the dim candlelight. It had been handed to him, waxed sealed, from a lower level thief, who had no idea of the identity of who had given it to him other than a figure in a hood that ordered him to bring the letter to his leader ASAP. Kanrik didn’t need to open the envelope to know exactly who sent it.

“I’m surprised at you, Hannah,” he mumbled, rereading the inky scribble: _Meet me at the border of Sakhmet at 5:30 pm NST._ The Lost Desert. Of all the places he’d thought she’d want to see him, that was the last.

He admitted to himself that he still felt guilty. She was a valuable colleague—the only word he could think to use at the moment—who didn’t deserve to be discarded the way she was by him. It was the first time in a long, long time he regretted an attempted killing…perhaps because it was the first time in a long, long time the victim had lived to get to know him later.

Perhaps that was what first truly made him impressed with her. He still didn’t know how she survived that fall, but seeing her bundled up in that cave despite his quite thorough disposal...his jaw had dropped and breath stopped at the sight. She was a force to be reckoned with, to be sure. Whether or not he knew at the time, she had earned his respect.

He let out a raspy sigh and rubbed his forehead. She was more than a good colleague. She was a good person. So good that he had forgotten to hate her for it. So good that he usually looked forward to seeing her--though that was a thought he was _not_ willing to acknowledge. 

...

When he met her at Sakhmet, he was decked in a white tunic, baggy harem pants, and cloth wrapped around his head to hide his face. She met him with an ear-to-ear grin. He had decided for this job it was best to follow her advice, given the cruel heat and the fact that Hannah was probably not secretive about the appearance of the man who had dumped her on the side of a cliff. A disguise could probably do him good.

He had stared a long while at one of his cloaks that morning, hanging expectantly on his chair. When was the last time he walked out without one? He didn’t even know; sometime before the Thieves Guild, in another life. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd heard her words… _you make the cloak the identity._

He'd felt a little naked as he snuck out before the risen sun, but also a little freer.

“We-he-hell, look who decided to dress appropriately,” she said, glancing him up and down. She too was dressed in light Sakhmet-woven linins, and her was face covered by a veil. He gave her mocking bow, offering his arm. “I suggest we get moving,” she whispered to him as she took it, “We need to get to the temple before sundown.”

“Some kind of ritual to get it open?” he asked, absent-mindedly swiping a tchea fruit at the edge of a stand. He took a bite of the thankfully juicy and quenching meal just as she looked up and groaned. She hit him in the side with a smirk.

“Let’s keep down the crime for now.” She wrestled the fruit out his hand (not that he was putting up much of a fight) and took a large bite for herself, smacking her lips. “This won’t be an easy job and we need all of our energy. No need to waste it running from guards.”

“You’re implying that I ever get caught by guards.”

Hannah didn’t even bother to hide her wry smile. “Lines like that might work on your swooning pickpockets, but they just make _me_ feel like you’re compensating.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

By the second hour of walking in the vast desert, long past Coltzan’s Shrine, he was thanking Fyora, Altador, Dr. Sloth, _whoever_ that he didn’t bring a cloak into the fiery heat of the Lost Desert. The last sips of water in his canteen sloshed with every step, and he was tempted—simply tempted, mind you—to take off the white hood around his head to run a hand through his dripping hair.

“Tell me Hannah, does this temple even exist? I can sense an assassination attempt, and this is smelling more and more like one every minute.”

He could not imagine how she could still have a spring in her step after these grueling hours, but she spun to meet him without the least bit of fatigue in her smile. “Oh, this definitely is one, Kanrik. I plan to absolutely kill you dead when we get there and leave your body for the scarabs.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

She pivoted back, wiping sweat off her brow (he was relieved to see a confirmation that she was a real Neopian). “So what is up with this assassination paranoia? Trouble in the thieving paradise?”

Should he tell her? It seemed odd to him to express these problems to a work colleague, but…honestly, he didn’t have anyone else to express them to, and he feared that if he didn’t let out this emotions before long every wine glass would look powdered and every shadow would look like a dagger. And there was nothing to overhear him but sand and heat. 

“I’m…young for a Thieves Guild leader. The youngest anyone can remember, actually,” he tentatively began, sliding his tongue over his teeth before continuing, “And a select few want to kill me for that. Not because of anything I did, but because they think I’m weak and an easy vessel to power.”

“You killed Galem.”

He frowned. How many times had he heard that in the last year? How many times has he told it to himself? It used to bring him comfort in moments of uncertainty, but he was beginning to wonder if that was the only great thing he’d ever do; if he’d spend the rest of his life living up to that. He’d rather his own strength not be measured by the strength of another. “That convinced most of the Guild, but some try to convince themselves it was a fluke.”

“Which it wasn’t, right?” she said with surprising earnest, “believe it or not, Kanrik, I’ve heard talk of you around the pirates. They’re thieves to, I guess…and at the risk of inflating your ego,” she shot back a teasing glance, “you’re a bit of a legend.”

“Am I now?” he mumbled, blinking in the lowering—but still blindingly bright—evening sun.

“Yeah, there’s been some stories passed around. But you know how those pirates like to exaggerate.”

“Hm.”

He continued to follow her, but something in him didn’t sit quite right. It wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant feeling, but it did seem…open. Vulnerable.

She sent one last look back at his silence, before biting her lip and turning ahead once more.

At long last, they reached the temple…or at least what Hannah insisted was the temple. Really, it seemed to be nothing more than a slab of polished rock in the sand, with some ancient and definitively non-Sakhmeti writing carved into its surface. Before he could ask for their next step, she tapped the four corners of the stone which then glowed an eerie blue. She took out a parchment and mumbled a few words he couldn’t understand, then tapped the corners again.

“And now, we wait for the sunset to hit it in just the right spot. The door will only be open for ten seconds, so we have to dive in.”

He nodded, and watch the sun dip below the horizon. He didn’t know why he felt nervous; maybe part of him was already sensing this outing would be different.

As Hannah had said, in the sun’s last visible moments a ray of light hit the slab, and there was a great flash from beneath the sand. The stone rose from the ground with a terrible groan, sending grains pouring in all directions. Kanrik could just see the outline of a rough stone door, embellished by tiny veins of gold that seemed to glint even with the sun dipped below the horizon. It stopped rising when it was just above his head.

“Well, now or never!” Hannah piped. Kanrik quickly reached over her head and opened the door so she could begin sliding down the thin winding staircase it revealed, just wide enough for him to barely fit into.

And so they traveled as normal, her studying glyphs and setting traps and him reaching for high levers or slashing attaching mummies with his knives. They tiptoed, they ran, they sometimes even strolled and chatted: “Hah! That one almost got you, Gelert!” “Never in my life, Usul.” “Watch out!” “Oh, so you do care? Wait till I tell the pirates.” “Oh please, I just need your steel to protect my hide.” Sure, they were always in danger. Yes, he did get bored looking at halls of yellow rock while Hannah figured out a riddle. And of course, she did rile him up when she shouted things like “Hurry _up_ , Mr. _Master Thief,_ I can’t hold this door forever!” when he was quite busy fighting off a hoard of the undead, thank you very much. But he realized, rather plainly, when they were walking through those winding corridors that he couldn’t think of times in his life when he’d felt lighter…perhaps, dare he say it, even happier. There were times, he supposed, but they were blurred out by the years and memories of cold hard survival.

And he realized again how that, shockingly, didn’t bother him. It was just so _easy_ to feel this, oddly enough, _relaxed_ here.

“What are you smiling about?” she grumbled, ringing out her dripping hair—a water trap had splashed all over her before she stopped the stream.

“Nothing. Your clothes are wet.”

“And what, you like it?”

“ _Please.”_

She was about to respond when she stopped, looked out to the hall in front of them, and whispered “we’re here.”

He looked where she was pointing, and sure enough there was a pair of bronze doors at the very end of the hall, displaying the same golden patterns on the door outside. There was writing above it, a long poem of sorts that was etched all the way down the doorframe.

“What does it say?” he asked her.

Hannah squinted in the dim light. “Travelers and thieves true, who braved the trials last, the wizard left his riches here when his sunsets ran to the end. To reward you, a share of his wealth has been prepared. But the room that lies beyond this threshold has one more test: for to gain millions, you must give me one.”

“One what?” he asked uneasily. His thief instincts were kicking in once more: never make a deal when you didn’t know exactly what you were being charged. Vague words left to being cheated.

“I guess we’ll figure it out!” She strode on ahead of him, and he had to silently curse her own adventurer instincts. Before he could ask her to slow down, she pushed open the doors and cautiously stepped in.

He waited. For what, he wasn’t sure.

Hannah called to him to follow her, excitement bubbling in her voice. She didn’t see a trap, and he won’t believe what he was about to see.

He came after her, heart still thudding nervously in his chest…and ears just barely twitching. But when he finally entered the treasure room, his jaw dropped and his heart beat for a while other reason.

Surrounding him was gold. Gold, and jewels, and platinum, practically dripping from the silver walls. He wanted to blink in fear of being blinded by the reflecting light, glittering and calling to his grabbing hands. And just to make the deal sweeter, the builders left a great stone lift already filled with goods, held by a chain rising up a chute which probably lead right to the surface. It was magnificent. It was breathtaking. It was the kind of haul most only dreamed of.

Except one wall. For a second, Kanrik studied it curiously. Covering one of the four sides of the room was a great tangled mass of sickly green vines, so thick he couldn’t see anything past them…except some white objects nestled deep inside that he couldn’t make out.

But that could wait. First they needed to get that treasure out, and he could barely contain his drool.

“What do we do?” his companion asked.

“The door said this gold was prepared for us. I guess we just get it,” he replied, putting his eagerness on full display.

She chuckled slightly, “Woah, slow down, we don’t know—“

But he didn’t slow down. He didn’t even hear her words. By the time she finished her sentence, he had already laid a hand on the wondrous wealth he was about to bring home, trying to climb on top of it.

Until he heard her scream.

He spun around just in time to see the vines, now a sinister flashing red, snap around her body and encase it. She tried to free her hand, but they flung forward and tied around it, holding it high above her head. More vines emerged in a rapid blur. After but a few moments, only her terrified face was visible through them. Then, the vines pulled back, dragging her towards the wall, shouting and crying all the way.

Through the displaced vines, Kanrik could see what was being held within their hoard. He saw a mangled kau skeleton, the skull hanging open in a scream and vines wrapped through every bone.

_For to gain millions, you must give me one._

For the smallest moment, Kanrik thought about the riches waiting in his peripheral vision. He could let it take her. He’d be shaken, but the gold could pay for years of therapy and then some. He could practically retire. He could do all that.

But he saw her wide, quivering eyes, staring at him in horror. For the second time.

_No,_ he decided. Not even an option.

Without another moment of thought, Kanrik leapt from the pile he was standing on and grabbed his blade. He hacked blindly at the vines, just barely holding onto his wits enough not to hit her too. They were surprisingly easy to cut, but as he slashed and sliced around her the floor in the room started to rumble and shake. He could hear a waterfall of gold and jewels start to fall. His heart hurt a bit when he realized what was happening, but when Hannah’s face started to dip into the tangle of the wall, he didn’t care.

At last his knife cut through the last restraint. The red magic dissipated into the air and the vines faded back to silver as Hannah fell forward into his arms with a gasp, shaking and breaths rasping in a way he’d never seen from her. She grasped his arms, fighting for control of her body in the aftershock. As he held her, Kanrik looked around them; the silver and gold finish of the room was gone. The treasure had been sucked or fallen away. All that was left was a plain, dark room of grey stone that smelled of dust and ash. Only the lift, now empty, was still waiting for them.

He mumbled to her: “Are you okay?”

She slowly lifted her face to him, a tired and solemn smile on her closed lips. He could see her thoughts in her eyes. _I thought you were going to leave me. I thought you would let me die._

He considered saying many things: _Never again. That’s behind me. You don’t have to worry about such things anymore._

Instead, he croaked out something else. “Once we get back to the surface, I really think I’ve earned some alcohol.”

To his surprise, she laughed shakily. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

…

_Masila poured the wine._

“ _Pasts are cumbersome, my love. Never discuss them. Your friends are future enemies, and knowing your past gives your enemies leverage.”_

“ _You’re bringing this up_ why, _exactly?” Kanrik took the goblet from her, letting the blood red liquid flow down his throat. His hood was pulled over his head, as it usually was. Even Masila rarely saw him without it until the heat of the night._

“ _Galem asked about you. About your life before the Guild. As if I’d know.” She poured her own cup and leaned back, resting her head against the cushion behind her. “He appreciates your gold more than he suspects your intentions, so he hasn’t come after you yet. But I think he wants a weapon.”_

_Kanrik smirked under the shadow of his hood. “Do you want to know my life story?”_

“ _Faerielands, no.”_

“ _Thought so.” He pushed his body to the side to look at her. “Let me guess, he knows something about you?”_

_She didn’t look at him, only shifted her goblet between her hands uneasily. “Perhaps once there was a very young acara who was a little dizzy in the head with infatuation, and told him things.”_

“ _Didn’t think you of all people would know the meaning of shame.”_

“ _You’d be surprised.”_

_He chuckled. She glared, but he didn’t stop. Until she spoke again._

“ _We could take him down, you and I.”_

_He snapped his head up with a start. “Are you insane? That’s mutiny!”_

“ _Only if we lose.”_

“ _He’s incredibly strong and the entire guild is loyal to him!”_

“ _Except the growing number that follow you.”_

“ _Don’t you still love him, or something?”_

_A leer played on her lips. “I love you more.”_

_Even then, he wasn’t really sure if he believed her. That, however, didn’t stop him from grabbing her arm and pulling her, smiling profusely, towards him._

…

Sakhmet was not known for its drinking life (it’s certainly no Krawk Island), but that didn’t mean it didn’t appreciate its wine and beer stands. It was even speckled with some open in the wee hours of the morning when a certain two weary adventurers finally made it back to the city.

Hannah and Kanrik found a little bar tent near the front gates and ordered enough “healing potion” to keep them occupied for the rest of the night. Hannah practically grabbed her glass out of the server’s hand, proclaiming how too damn long it had been. Kanrik sipped his, thoughtfully watching her chug hers.

“I suggest you keep your wits about you,” he mused, “we are still in a strange land with people who may recognize you.”

She swallowed deeply and gave him a teasing smile. “Eh, I’m so famous that’s always a risk. ‘Sides,” She reached forward to the bottle and poured herself another tall glass, “I’m from Krawk Island, mate. I can hold my beer. I’ve beat many a grog-worshipping sea captain in drinking contests.” She tipped her glass back.

“Right, your pirate friends from the bar.”

She giggled into her drink. “Yeah, they’re drinking buddies. Good to get smashed with but not for much else.”

“And what other kind of friends can you find in Neopia’s capital of plunderers and peg-leggers?” He asked, downing his own drink—no need to keep behind the lady. If she could much be called a “lady,” which he had an inkling she’d be opposed to.

To his surprise (and interest), her eyes cast down. “Not much.” As if catching herself, she immediately perked up. “I get by just fine on my own. No one to get in my way, no one I need to share my gold with!”

“What about the bori?”

“Oh, Armin’s a great kid, and a friend.” Hannah shrugged. “But he’s just that—a kid. There’s only so much that won’t go over his head.”

“Like your spotty past in the Golden Dubloon?” Kanrik asked cooly, pouring them both another glass. The sun still hadn’t risen, so he figured they had time.

“Whoa!” She jabbed her pointer finger in his face, leaning dramatically on the wobbling table, “I’ll have you know my past wasn’t spotty at all in the Golden Dubloon! I was a waitress. That’s why I blew that joint.” She tipped back her chair and folded her arms behind her head. “Besides, excuse me but you don’t seem like a social carmariller yourself.”

He turned away from her…until he realized that he was proving her exact point, and looked her in the eyes. “I’m the Guildmaster of a planet-wide association of backstabbers. I wouldn’t exactly go drinking with any of them. They can’t be friends.” From the look on her face, the comment’s relation to their current situation wasn’t lost on either of them. Kanrik, instinctually trying to clear the muggy tension that had risen, added: “And before the Dubloon? What did an usul do for a living then?”

Nearly spilling her cup, she ungracefully guffawed. “Why would you want to know a thing like that?”

He pondered on if she went by the philosophy that indulging someone in your past is asking them to use it against you; a philosophy he too had lived by for many years now. Still, maybe it was the beer, but he scooted his chair and said quietly, the words creeping past his very nature, “Perhaps I might…be on the _verge_ of considering you a friend.”

She blinked twice in a blank stare.

“The feeling, of course, need not be mutual.”

“Considering me a friend,” she repeated, almost indignantly, but much to his relief her face softened from shock to simple disbelief, “alright, Pretty Boy _,_ you’re getting drunker than I thought. But, prove it. You tell me where you came from first.”

His hand clenched around his cup. Even before the night of Masila’s advice, he never spoke of his childhood; not even to someone as harmless as Finley. And sitting there without his cloak—which yes, he could admit at this point was a bit of a shield—he feared that speaking of his life would be like standing naked in front of a swordsman and shouting “STAB ME!”

“Psh, what I thought,” she turned away, standing and reaching for her satchel.

“Wait! Sit down,” he sighed, reaching over and pulling down on her arm. She obeyed, raising an eyebrow. “I was born in the Haunted Woods. My parents died, so I moved to Meridell.” he huffed.

“You call that a life story?” Hannah none-too-subtly refilled his glass to the brim, nodding at it when he didn’t immediately drink. “Give me details.”

“No, that’s all that you’re getting.”

“ _Kanrik_ …” she pouted, lip stuck out like a child.

A beat. Then, with a deep sigh, Kanrik took a long swing and began.

“My mother was from Meridell and my father was one of the caravan travelers from the Woods. They met one night when his band had ridden up to trade with some of the merchants. Mother was a merchant’s daughter and engaged to someone else, but when she heard my father play his guitar on one of their nightly celebrations she decided that she wanted the life of a traveler. She ran away, to put it simply.”

“Scandalous,” Hannah said, sipping at her wine. Kanrik grunted.

“I was born on the outskirts of some abandoned town in the Woods, I honestly couldn’t tell you its name. I spent the first eight years of my life with those travelers. Really, Hannah, they’re a fascinating group. My mother was not the only outsider. There were former nobles, beggars…my father’s mother had been an honest-to-Fyora Desert Scarab, which honestly is the only reason I let that annoying tiny band off the hook these days.” He glanced around himself, and none of the other patrons seemed to notice the comment, so he assumed that those scamps weren’t out for the night. Figures. “Anyway, mother tried to keep herself genteel, though, best she could. She may have loved my father, but I don’t think she was ever truly cut out for traveler life. Which, of course, ended up killing her.

“They’d been on the road and had traded with some merchant just coming from Mystery Island. He had these blankets and dresses he claimed were from the finest of weavers in the tribes there, grown from the finest of silks from Shenkuu…Mother was always itching to get her hands on finery for a bargain, so she bought them off of him. Father should have stopped her, because it was too good a price to be true, but I think he wanted to sell some of it for profit…he could be a greedy fellow like that. I refused to wear them, since I had more of the traveler’s blood in my veins, and it’s a good thing I did because…well, what the trader told Mother might have been true, but he failed to mention that the village that had weaved them was wiped out by a plague, and the garments were remnants of that.”

“By Fyora,” Hannah breathed, “so the story you told me on that day was true?”

“Not completely.” Kanrik ran his finger absentmindedly over the glass. After all these years of these stories being pressed down and suppressed, the feelings bubbling up again—grief, shame, loneliness—boiled within him. He wanted to block it down, forget it again…but she looked at him with kind eyes—the eyes of a friend—and he was getting pretty drunk, so he swallowed and continued. “I didn’t have a sister. But yes, I adopted some elements from my life into that story.

“The plague spread through the band faster than I could comprehend. They quickly isolated the children and youth, but it wasn’t much use. Before long, the only healthy ones were a few sturdy teenagers…and me. Which, of course, enraged some, because what justice is there in one of the survivors being the child of the ones who started it all? But still, the caravans are outsiders in most lands surrounding the Woods, so my mother, I guess out of repentance of some sort, sent us all up to her family in Meridell.

“Though they still partially blamed me for our band’s death, the teenagers I guess felt enough brotherhood with me to get me up there in once piece…or they simply wanted my connections. When I got there, though, I couldn’t find my mother’s family; they’d either left in shame after their daughter’s disappearance or died, I don’t know. But the teenagers were done with me when this came to light, and one morning I woke up completely alone. I wandered the streets a few days, picking pockets…I was pretty small and unremarkable, and could climb most anywhere. The leader of a pickpocketing group discovered me and asked me to join her. She was awful…not _Galem_ awful, but she worked us to the bone and kept most of the profits, knowing most of us didn’t have any other options. I followed her until she got arrested and the group was dispersed. I passed between a few orphanages, but I hated them, so I set out for good. I was fifteen then, I think, but by then I could handle myself. I stole a pair of knives from a weapons smith and taught myself to use them. I eventually got fed up with the dunghole that is Meridell and decided to join the Guild.”

“Wow,” Hannah whispered. “I don’t think I’ve heard you say that much in the entire time I’ve known you, let alone in one sitting.” She fiddled with her hair some, and bit her lip as if searching for words to say. Kanrik shook his head, relieving her of the effort.

“I’m guessing you want some from me, then.” She took another long gulp—this time straight from the bottle—and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “I’m truly surprised you _did_ end up sharing all that with me, Mr. Loner.”

“You’re stalling,” Kanrik observed.

Hannah put her hands up in her defense, and finally started. “Well, I’ll admit mine isn’t quite as complex as yours, but I got a few family deaths too. Here goes.

“I was born in Krawk Island, as you probably could have guessed. My mother…well, count your blessings that your mother _cared_ , Kanrik, even if she didn’t always make the best choices. Dear old mama was a flighty customer of the Dubloon who never took much interest in me, even if she loved me. She preferred to spend her days running around with sailors, and I spent most of my time with my grandparents, who were pretty genteel actually. Every so often Mama would take me to the Dubloon, where she would dance around with me and let the owner get to know me…for better or for worse. Still, she wasn’t much of an everyday kind of parent, you know? Eventually, when I was about thirteen, she decided some pirate captain she’d met in the bar was her soulmate or whatever, but I was better off on the island. She hugged me goodbye, hit the road, and that was the last I ever saw of her. As for my father? I have no damn clue. He could be King Hagen for all I know.” She laughed, shaking her head.

“My grandparents raised me. Grandpa taught me practical skills. Sailing, craftsmanship, tracking…you name it. Grandma taught me to read, sew, and understand people. She told me not to blame my mother too harshly, because she a free spirit who simply wasn’t meant for the job, and I think part of her was glad they had me because it felt like I gave them another chance…along with Mama, they’d raised the worst uncle someone could ever ask for. Captain Bloodhook, as that slorgbucket called himself, rarely came around, but when he did it was usually to scream and threaten Grandpa for his inheritance that he claimed was being wasted on me…calling my mother some nasty names. Other than that, though, I really did have a happy childhood. That is, until Bloodhook discovered that Grandpa was hiding the Mermaid’s Tear from him, and he broke in one night and killed them. Pretty brutally.”

“Did you see it?” Kanrik asked.

“No, but I heard it. I climbed out the back window and hid in the street until I saw his ship leave. I guess he didn’t think much would come of me.” She threw out her hands in mock cockiness. “Well, joke’s on him!”

Kanrik snickered in spite himself.

“Bloodhook raided Grandpa of all his money—which meant all _my_ inheritance. So that’s how I ended up working at the Dubloon. I guess they hired me in a way to honor my mother, who practically spent her entire share of my grandparent’s money there.” She slammed her glass down and took an exaggerated gasp. “There. We’ve bared all to each other like a pair of weeping teenage nobles.”

“I guess we’re friends now.”

With just the slightest of smiles, Hannah nodded softly. “We are. Except…” She leaned in close…dangerously close. Kanrik tightened his jaw, which had everything to do with the fact that he could smell just how much she had to drink that night, and nothing to do with the fact that he could feel her warm breath through his fur and her quirked grin was inches from him. “…how did you get that?”

Her finger rose to point right at his jagged scar.

“That,” he turned away from her, and took her pout as a victory, “is a story for another night.”

She continued to pout, but dropped the subject. When the sun finally peeked over the horizon, Hannah shrugged in defeat and ushered towards the door. “Guess it’s time to take our leave!” He stood to go, but Hannah grabbed his arm.

“Ah ah ah, we’re paying our tab,” she said, resting her fist on a cocked hip, “Sorry, but I’ve worked in a bar long enough to never deprive a waitress of her hard-earned tip.”

“Force of habit,” he mumbled, fishing into the pocket of his tunic to pull out the coins. Hannah mouthed “good,” but then a notable sparkle took her eye.

“Buuut…to make it up to you, I hear Amira is just lounging in that palace drowning in riches…next time, perhaps?”

Damn that woman, she knew just what to say to entice him. “ _Absolutely.”_ Kanrik hesitated, then casually (but not really) scratched his ear before continuing, “Though tonight wasn’t thoroughly awful. I wouldn’t mind just doing… _this_ again.”

Hannah didn’t agree, but she did mumble “maybe,” which satisfied him in that moment. As he walked out into the silver moonlight and still active Sakhmet, with muddled talk behind tent flaps and rustling of thieves running on rooftops replacing the shouts of street vendors and bumping of carts, he found himself stealing one glance back at her…just one for the road. She was staring into space with distant eyes, biting her lip and not in sassiness or even cockiness…she looked contemplative. Almost lost.

It was a look he’d never really seen on her. He caught himself with a smirk of his own; after all, he had managed to confound Hannah. The brilliant Hannah. What a thought. Choosing to ignore the events that lead to such an accomplishment and the haze of his own mind, he readjusted the wrap around his head and stepped into the dimmed street.

At last, he felt no emptiness in their parting.

…

It didn’t take very long for _this_ to become standard.

There wasn’t a heist that didn’t end in a drink, or dinner, or a show…he was usually the one to suggest it, though she rarely objected. They’d just be stuffing a priceless emerald egg into their satchel at Shenkuu or wrapping up a prehistoric artifact in Tyrannia when he’d see a theatre opening or a street performer appearing or any matter of thing, and before he knew it they were just another pair of Neopians enjoying the delights the planet had to offer. From Mystery Island fire-eating to the circuses of Blumaroo Island, it was something he’d never quite experienced: seeing a side of the world that was both beautiful and had no monetary value.

“I never knew you were such a connoisseur of the arts,” Hannah had said.

“Me neither,” he’d replied.

They were receiving some post-heist treats from Exquisite Ambrosia when the shopkeeper, eager to look proud and on top of his establishment, handed them their ice cream with a rather loud and boastful, “Neopia’s finest cuisine for this lovely couple!”

Hannah’s face burned red and she nearly dropped her bowl. “W-we’re not a couple!” she stammered, but the shopkeeper had moved on to impressing other customers without hearing her. She hunched over and ate her ice cream like it was her last meal, looking just about everywhere but at Kanrik. He wondered if it had ever occurred to her on any of these escapades that they might have _looked_ like a couple.

It had crossed his mind once or twice.

Suddenly, an idea sparked.

“Oh, it’s okay honey,” he cooed, and a look of sheer horror crossed her face, “the man just wanted to complement us on this beautiful evening.” He petted her hair. She looked at his arm like she was going to rip it off.

“You don’t know how much I want to kill you right now,” she hissed. He leaned in close with a daring smirk, and her face only reddened.

“Hey, it’s a good cover,” he pointed out. She simply glared, and he backed off, laughing to himself.

He couldn’t tell exactly when it happened, or who suggested it first, but there came a point when the actual criminal undertakings were weaned out of their meetings. He found himself wading in a pool nestled in the forest between Kiko Lake and Neopia Central, staring at the moon casting a rippling ghost on the water and wondering how he many times he’d be able to come back to camp empty handed before people started to wonder.

Which was a ridiculous thought, because he knew full well that they’d been wondering for nearly a year now.

But then Hannah would pop her head above the water again, chide him for being so insufferably serious, and they’d battle out the sarcasm as they always did. She continued to comment on his hair; he’d finally, after long deliberation and the water’s edge, decided to fully remove his cloak and hood—feeling as though he was exposing himself to her in a way almost no one has ever seen. She was even taken aback by the action (“Are you telling me that this whole time you’re hair has been dark blue and not black? My world is crumbling.”), but she wouldn’t stop stealing glances at him from the corner of her eye, which only served to unsettle him more. But as their distracting snarky spats continued, he began to feel a calming warm spread through him. Relaxation. Contentment. He felt an itching urge to touch her, to brush that stray strand of hair from her forehead, but he remembered how she reacted when he touched her hair the last time and besides, he had no reason to do such a thing.

No reason.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry again for the long update. This may end up being 6 chapters, depending on how the next one goes. Thanks for reading!

_Kanrik had, little by little, moved his way up the thieves table, far past Des and any of the others he’d joined with. Galem had taken to calling them to his side, just a few seats down from him. Kanrik knew this was a danger as much as an honor. The pride he felt whenever Galem slapped him on back curdled with the knowledge of what Masila wanted them to do—something he was undeniably curious about._

_Kanrik, more than once, imagined himself at the head of the table. Lounging in wealth and power. Swirling_ _his_ _goblet with an adoringly smug smirk as Masila sang his praises to the table, right at his side. Then he’d open his eyes again to see Galem still in that place, and he felt like a caged petpet gnawing at the bars. It was growing unbearable._

_Regardless, Masila never failed to throw him a knowing glance that thrilled him more than he’d admit._

“ _I almost couldn’t believe when Galem killed his last opponent. She’d been picking off the others one by one without so much of a flinch. She was faster and older, but he stabbed her right in the back… cut through her like butter. That was the first time I saw him. I went to meet him right after.” Masila side-eyed Kanrik with a subtle smile. Galem took her hand and kissed it, and Kanrik could tell the loving expression she sent him was artificial._

_He felt a touch of annoyance. Not of jealousy, unfortunately for her; he’d gotten used to sharing his lover long ago. Rather, because he knew exactly why she was trying to do: entice him into action. It wasn’t working._

“ _Stop that,” he hissed to her as soon as they were out of earshot of the table, hidden behind a heavy woven curtain. “if you keep looking at me like that someone will figure us out.”_

_She refused to meet his eyes, glaring so fiercely into the tapestry that one might have expected it to smolder. “I’m getting impatient.” The moonlight dripped through one crack in the fabric, casting shadows over half her face. He could see enough to notice the spark of rage in her eyes._

“ _What? For me to get myself killed as an example?” he hissed. “Or worse?” She reached out a hand to him, but he pulled away before she could touch._

_She looked hurt. He knew better._

“ _My love, I want nothing more than for you to take his place. That should be you up there.”_

_Kanrik growled low. By Fyora, he wanted to be up there. Not just because of her. Hell, she occupied his thoughts on the matter less and less. He wanted this for himself. He wanted his own power. There was a deep spite building in his soul, driven further by the growing resentment to his fast advancement. Success always begat jealousy, and he already seemed to have enemies. He’d heard the whispers, that he was a crazy talentless boy who only knew how to say the right words. Preposterous. He'd earned his place._

_But to betray the thieves lord who’d taken him in, who’d advanced him so quickly? Was that even wise?_

_He spoke this aloud to her. She tutted._

“ _He’s keeping you close because he worries about you. Because he sees your talent as well as I do. Because he knows that you are more worthy.”_

_Kanrik shook his head. “All the more reason to hold off for now.”_

_Masila stood up straight, lip curling as she sneered, “I never took you for a coward.”_

_Kanrik stopped short. “I am no coward.”_

_Masila laughed, harsh and toxic. He could feel the sting throughout his body. “When you’re ready to be half the man I expected you to be, let me know. Maybe then, and only then, can_ any _of this—the guild, the respect, the power, or_ me _, ever be yours. Until then, you’re a glorified beggar boy.” She slipped out from behind the curtain, disappearing as a shadow in the night. The air around him felt colder._

_Kanrik breathed deeply. The sting worsened, pulsing through him. It had been months that she’d been pushing this on him, and this was the first time that her tactics had changed from words of adoration. It felt like a betrayal. Was this what she really thought? Was he disappointing her? Was her wandering eye ready to wander again?_

_Than he heard a footstep._

_His knives were in his hand in an instant, ears alert and teeth bared. “Who’s there?”_

“ _No sneaking up on you.” A camouflage cybunny stepped from the darkness._

“ _Des...” Kanrik sighed. He sheathed his knives, running a hand through his hair. “What are you doing?”_

“ _You’re a damn idiot, boy.”_

“ _Doesn’t answer my question.”_

“ _Don’t care. She’s using you.”_

_Kanrik shook his head, not as a no, but in frustration. “You know little of this.”_

“ _Little?” Des raised her eyebrows and crossed her paws, thumping her lower leg like a nagging mother. “I’ve been here a lot longer than you, Fyora knows, and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s listening.” She pointed at her ears, long even for a Neopet of her kind. “I know almost everything that goes on around here. You think you’re the first of her lovers, boy?”_

“ _Of course not. But has she stayed with one this long? She’s been seeing me for nearly three years now.”_

“ _No...” Des admitted, lowering her voice a little. “But Galem usually found and got rid of them by now. You’re just good. Look...” she took a little hop closer. “Masila wants power. Galem stands in her way. She knows you can take him out. But she also thinks she can control you. And well, at this point I’m inclined to agree.”_

_Kanrik felt the heat rise in his cheeks. His fists clenched. Something dark, angry, impulsive was bubbling inside of him. His conflicted heart festered it all, the competition between loyalty and ambition, the war between desire and cowardice that he refused to acknowledge._

“ _So you need to stop acting like a lovesick puppy and wise up. You may take out Galem someday, but do it on her terms and you will suffer for it.”_

“ _I was wrong,” he hissed. He turned to loom over her small form, and in the dim light his shadow stretched further to envelop her. “You don’t know little. You know nothing.”_

“ _You’re a stupid kid in way over his head,” Des snapped. Her voice was steady, as if she was admonishing a child. The words added to the still burning sting._

“ _I am your superior. How dare you speak to me in this way?”_

_Des scoffed.“My superior, after being here an eighth of the years that I have. Yeah, I know you are. No one gets to your position at your age. But Galem is keeping his potential enemies closer. He already suspects you. Hell, do you know how easy it would be for me to just tell him?”_

_Something cold took Kanrik’s heart. He squinted towards her, fingers playing at the handle of his knife. “You wouldn’t.”_

“ _Would it deter you from doing something so foolish?”_

_She was bluffing. She had to be. “Hold your tongue--”_

“ _Are you even sure that you’re_ capable _of what she is asking of you!? I’m not!”_

_The cybunny clearly knew she’d made a mistake as soon as the words left her mouth. Her eyes widened and her ears flattened back as Kanrik stepped closer, the anger and resentment in him bubbling so high that it clouded his mind. “Don’t you ever question what I’m capable of. And don’t you_ ever _threaten to cross me.” His voice was cool, steady, low. Then, he heard another voice from the outside. Dark, booming laughter, boasting between sips of wine._

_And Kanrik got an idea._

“ _Galem already suspects me, you say?”_

“ _Wait, kid--”_

_Kanrik grabbed her by the bottom of her ears. She squealed, kicking at him to no avail. He dragged her outside in an instant, and Galem looked his way in clear surprise._

Worthless bastard, _he thought,_ I should never be able to see you surprised.

“ _How dare you disrespect our esteemed lord! I’ll show you!” he shouted, and with a flash his blade was in his hand. He sliced it clear across her ear, creating a deep gash that bled down to his gloves. Her squealing turned to a pained screech, and then gentle, pained sobs._

“ _What is this?” Galem asked, interest tinging his voice._

“ _I’m sorry, my Lord. But this vagrant was speaking ill of you. Almost close to...a desire for mutiny.”_

“ _Is that so?”_

“ _I had to step up for your honor, my Lord.”_

_Galem studied him. Kanrik kept his head bowed. He dropped Des to the ground, who bounded away holding her ear before Galem could punish her himself. Kanrik felt a hand clamp his shoulder._

“ _I’m glad to have such loyal subordinates in my guild. You are a credit to the thieves, my son.”_

“ _Thank you, my lord.” Kanrik took the slightest of glances up. There, behind Galem, was Masila, giving him a low smile._

_He smirked at her in response._

…

Hannah was drunk again.

“I’ve never seen her like this!” Armin piped as he walked next to them.

“I have. She’ll be fine,” Kanrik said.

Kanrik hadn’t known the kid would be joining them. He supposed he should have--it was his homeland after all. Yet he hadn't much managed to hide his shocked and a little disturbed face the moment Armin skipped up behind the usul he’d come to see. The bori gave a similar expression, as soon as he saw Kanrik in turn.

It wasn’t that he disliked Armin, per se. He just wasn’t ready to deal with Armin’s probably residual discomfort with him, after...everything. They did meet with him getting pounded on the shins, after all. But Armin, to his credit, didn’t say much. He greeted him, politely if a touch suspiciously. Then continued the night as if nothing had happened.

Hannah was one of many drunkenly flowing through the Winter Starlight Celebration, with eggnog, wine, and frothy berry beers being passed between the stands and carts. Not to mention, the occasional mug of hot spiked borovan. Hannah had tried them all (“Of course I am, Kanrik! I’m an adventurer after all.”) They’d certainly come far in their friendship, as she trusted Kanrik enough to hang off his arm.

Kanrik had never seen this festival, despite the Thief Camp’s usual proximity to Terror Mountain. It was lovely, sparkling; soft violets and silvers, glittering against a velvety twilight sky. Children danced around his feet with the toys they’d received from that day’s Advent Calendar, the magic of which even he was impressed by. He’d stood on the sidelines as he’d watched Hannah and Armin skate across the pond, before she’d become quite so inebriated; they laughed between each other and kicked up bits of shimmering ice as they slid. Despite the bitter cold, a strange warmth blossomed in his chest.

“I’m glad t-that you two have be...become friends,” Hannah quipped, patting them both on their arms, “my two favorite boys.”

Kanrik wasn’t sure when he’d reached the level of “favorite boy,” but he’ll take it. The far more questionable point was the idea that he and Armin had become friends. He looked towards the kid. Armin was walking ahead, the look on his face saying that the statement didn’t sit right with him either.

Kanrik wasn’t certain he even wanted another friend. Wasn’t Hannah trouble enough?

“Y-you remember where my cabin is, right Armin?”

“’Course I do!”

“Cabin?” Kanrik asked. He’d assumed that they would rent a room somewhere, though come to think of it, he doubted there would be rooms available by now. Which means he was going to have a rough night.

“Hannah owns a place a little up the ways. What did you think we did when we were exploring the caves? We were there for months, we had to come out _sometimes_.”

Kanrik didn’t answer. Hannah laughed harder than the comment really was funny, throwing her head back in exhilaration.

Before long, there was a slight glow in the distance. Indeed, through the snow emerged a little cottage, no more than one or two rooms but able to get the job done.

“She keeps it for when I have to come down the mountain,” Armin said quietly, “when its too late for me to go home.” Kanrik nodded. Hannah fumbled with her pocket, almost dropping her keys in the deep snow before Armin managed to dive down and catch them. Kanrik managed to get it in the lock, and in another moment they were pulling her inside. The cabin certainly wasn’t large, but it was generous. There was a little oven furnace, shelves with extra preservable food. A tall bookshelf with volumes on every land a Neopian has ever step foot on, and probably a couple they haven’t. A pile of excavating equipment in the corner. A well-worn couch on the farthest side. In front of it, a low fire already burned in the small brick fireplace, seemingly with no wood and producing no ash.

“It’s magical. Was a gift from Taelia,” Armin said when he saw Kanrik eyeing it, and Hannah gave a fumbling nod in confirmation. She gave a quick cry that she _needed_ to get them food, reaching desperately for the furnace, but Armin and Kanrik were quick to catch her and drag her towards her bedroom. Despite her protests, she didn’t take long to flop onto the bed.

Kanrik closed the bedroom door behind him. He turned to the front, only to let out a sharp huff. Armin still stood there, arms crossed like he was a concerned parent and a scrutinizing expression over his little face. Kanrik sighed, and waited for the inevitable question as he sat down on Hannah’s couch.

“So why are you hanging out with Hannah so much?” Armin said, following his feet.

“That’s our business.”

Armin hopped up to sit on the couch beside him. “That’s not what she thinks. She’s told me plenty.”

Kanrik’s relaxed expression fell into a frown. “How much, exactly?”

“She said that you’ve been adventuring together! Which if cool, if you’re not trying anything funny. But how do I know that you’re not?”

Kanrik studied the fire. There was certainly something nostalgic about sitting by a fire with a talkative little Neopet. “I don’t think you can. But Hannah trusts me, doesn’t she?”

Armin was quiet for a couple moments. “She mentions you a lot, actually. Not to everyone of course, just to me. But we’ll be walking and she’ll be all, oh, Kanrik and I have been here. Or listen to this joke that actually managed to make Kanrik laugh.”

Something inside Kanrik tensed at that. Something else seemed a little lighter. “Sorry,” he murmured.

Armin shook his head. “Honestly Kanrik, I’m not worried about you.”

That genuinely startled him. He looked towards the kid with raised eyebrows. “You aren’t?”

“You saved her life. Then you didn’t leave for a while, to make sure she was ok.” The kid shrugged, “Anyone who feels guilt like that, and does something about it, has _some_ good in them.”

Kanrik and Armin hadn’t spoken much for those two weeks. The kid stayed inside with her when he wasn’t off helping the bori in the aftermath. Whenever he returned to Taelia’s cabin, he’d make uneasy eye contact with Kanrik, but pass him and enter. There was always something like relief on his face when he’d come back. Kanrik thought he was relieved that he hadn’t done anything bad yet, but maybe he was relieved that Kanrik was still there.

“Do you _like_ her?”

Kanrik flinched. “W-what? What do you mean?”

Much to his dismay, the kid just rolled his eyes. “You know. Just ‘like.’ She likes you, obviously. She thinks you’re a close friend.”

Kanrik, through his embarrassment, managed to look forward towards the the fire. “...Yes. Yes, of course I do. She’s my friend.”

A pause.

“Despite my better judgment.”

Armin actually giggled at that. “Then you’re my friend too. I mean, Hannah knows most of everything. I trust her, so I trust you.”

Kanrik nodded. This ‘friend’ thing may be getting out of control, at two and counting. But he’ll deal with that later, and there was no harm on being on the other favorite boy's nice list. “Do you know anywhere I can find a room?”

Armin chuckled, patting the couch that they sat on. “What, is this not good enough for you?”

He hadn’t even considered that she’d be thinking he’d...sleep over, so to speak. Though he figured Hannah was not the type to throw a friend out into the cold. “Didn’t think of it. Thanks for letting me know.” The couch wasn’t terribly long, clearly more appropriate for someone of Armin’s size than his. But certainly better than nothing. And besides, someone had to be here for Hannah.

Armin hopped from the couch, saying that he needed to get home tonight. Kanrik watched silently as the boy bundled himself and, with a quick wave in his direction, bounded out the door.

...

“You ever thought of having a grumpy little tyke of your own, Thief Master?” Hannah blurted suddenly as Kanrik opened the door to check on her. Kanrik gawked a little at the question, which she didn’t seem to notice, in her state. Even when his ear twitched just so slightly.

“Not usually a good idea in my position,” he said simply, “to have a family.”

“Hrm.” Hannah flopped down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I think that too, a lot. Like can I take my kids running through caves? Doesn’t seem likely. But then I started adventuring with Armin, and he could handle it! So it doesn’t seem so odd now. I mean, I love Armin. He almost makes me wanna have a kid. What a cutie.”

“Armin is what, fourteen? Something like that? There’s a lot that happens before then.”

“I know _that.”_ Hannah propped herself up on her elbows to look over at him. “So I’d need help for the first several years. I mean, I hear that there’s usually someone else involved, ya know.” Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “I have an idea! We can team up! Raise the little tykes with the thieves till they’re old enough to go excavating with me!”

Kanrik’s eyes widened. She was talking nonsense. She was wasted. She--

“Oh Fyora, I’m just kidding!” Hannah rolled over back onto her bed in broken giggles. “You take everything so seriously.” She stopped and caught her breath. Her head rolled over back in her direction, and suddenly she seemed to be studying him, a quizzical look on her face. 

Kanrik shifted slightly under her gaze. "What?"

She looked at him, wide eyed, for a couple more moments. Then she scoffed at herself and shook her head. "Nothing. Dumb thoughts, is all."

Dumb thoughts. Part of him wanted to ask what those dumb thoughts were. Instead, he took a breath and backed back through the door, hand solidly on it and ready to close. He stopped just short of the frame.

His mind drifted to Armin. The kid was a little more right than he would have ever liked. Hannah did know most of everything, and there she was, trusting him enough to sleep on the other side of the door. My, how things had indeed changed. There was one more thing she didn’t know, though. And hell, he guessed she could hear that bit. It wasn’t any worse than everything she’d already accepted.

“Hannah?” Kanrik called to her.

“Hm?” She lifted her head slightly. She was hardly conscious, between the alcohol and call of sleep.

“I got my scar as a sign of my status in the guild. Which I earned after backstabbing my closest friend to gain Galem’s trust.”

Hannah was quiet for a few moments. He heard the low-burning fireplace crackle in the cold air. Then, she lay her head back down. “Not terribly surprising. Hope they forgave you.”

After a moment of silence, Kanrik shut the door behind him. He had no answer to that. He leaned against the wall, and watched the fire glow.

…

“ _My love, that was brilliant!” Masila sang as she entered his tent that night. “You know how Galem loves his theatrics.”_

_Kanrik hummed in response._

_The next night, Galem called him to the front. He took a shining golden blade from his belt, and in the next moment, made a quick gash along Kanrik’s snout. Kanrik stood firm, refusing to let the searing, pulsing pain show in front of the whispering thieves._

“ _This man has proven himself to me,” Galem boomed, “And thus we’ll show him the respect he deserves.” Kanrik turned to look towards the others, warm blood dripping down his fur._

_Other thieves, some of whom had gashes of their own, cheered. Then one, huddled under the masses, glared up at him. There was a bloody bandage wrapped around her ear. She scoffed, eyes like daggers, before shaking her head and turning to squeeze back into the crowd._

_Kanrik pushed it from his mind. He got what he needed. Masila’s eyes sparkled in his direction._

…

The panic hit him when he was back at the camp. 

Until then, an odd golden liquid had been running through his veins, warm and light. The feeling of lightheadedness and comfort and the world looking a little different than it had before. He hadn't even minded the fact that Hannah had scarcely left his thoughts, not that she did much these days anyway. But sitting in that tent, in the cold darkness with the light bustling of thieves on the outside, it all turned to ice. Yes, Hannah knew most everything about him now. She knew and she accepted it. She liked him, liked having him around. And he returned that feeling. Sometimes he craved it. She was...she was a very, very close friend (and as ridiculous as it felt, the approval of a little yellow bori somehow made it all the more real). But that was precisely the problem. 

Neopians like him can’t _do_ things like this. They can’t _feel_ this way. This couldn’t exist in the underground, in the shadows. Friendship was a danger. Friendship meant attachment. Friendship meant trust. Friendship meant a weakness.

He’d used Des’ friendship against her.

He wanted Hannah there with him. He’d never missed her presence more. And he wanted to forget her completely at the same time.

He felt more like a kid in his twenties than he ever had before.

He needed advice. He needed advice from the one other person who’d always gone out of her way to give it. Who’d looked out for his interest. But she had no reason to stand with him, not for anything but fear.

Kanrik stepped outside. To the first bandit he saw, he commanded, “Bring me Des.”

After a few minutes of tense waiting, the cybunny timidly stepped into his tent head hung low and ears back—one nearly sliced through. She held her fingers tensely in front of her. So low he could hardly hear, she asked, “You called, my Lord?”

“Sir. I am no Lord.”

He could have sworn she grunted. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“You called, my Lord?” she repeated.

“Honestly, Des, call me Kanrik. You knew me before.” The grunt again. He stood, and crossed to her side of the tent. He meant it as a friendly gesture, but her body shrank back, and his throat felt dry. He remembered her screeching that night.

“I’m sorry for what happened that night,” he said before anything else.

Her eyes opened up to him in shock. He knew why. Even for him, a blatant apology was too intimate, too open for a simple member of the guild. It was likely a ruse. But there was always something different about Des. She’d always known more about him than anyone else, so he’d stopped fighting it then. Why start again now?

“It is not like a Thieves Master to show guilt.”

“Luckily now I have the power now to change the rules.”

Des studied him. Her ears twitched. Unlike him, he knew this was no nervous tic. This was listening. This was scoping. This was trying to find the crack in the facade. “I always knew you’d have to get there on your own terms.”

“I still teamed up with Masila,” he pointed out.

“Sure ya did. But when you took out Galem? Then you weren’t following her word. Fighting with the bori and that girl? That was all you. I was there, reluctantly. But I saw you on the other side. That’s when I knew times would soon change for the guild.”

“Maybe that was just spite.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Her tone had changed. He realized that she knew he’d been sorry for quite some time. Des just wanted to see if he had grown enough to say it aloud. From the look on her face, she seemed satisfied. She hadn’t said so, but it seemed that he was forgiven. The clenching of his heart relaxed, somewhat.

Then he realized that she’d brought up Hannah first. He didn’t know what to make of that. Had she seen him leave with her in his arms too?

(Was there anyone he cared about that he _hadn’t_ hurt?)

“I actually wanted to, um...” he straightened his expression and voice, to hide the nervousness. “Get your opinion on something.”

“About whoever you’re seeing?”

“Excuse me?” he snapped in artificial shock. Of course she knew. He should have known she would.

“In my experience, there’s only a few reasons a young person slips away without telling anyone where they’ve gone. Unpaid debts, an embarrassing hobby, or a lover.”

“You’re wrong, actually.”

Des’ ever twitching ears perked. “Am I now? Several in the guild think it’s the last. Or they want it to be. Everyone loves drama. Except Granner, that doofus. He thinks you have a secret NeoQuest group.”

“She’s not my lover.”

“So it is a she. Well, that narrows it down to half the Neopian population.” Kanrik didn’t like the glint in her eye as she said it. As if she had it narrowed down a little more than that. “She’s not a lover. But you love her?”

The words, coming from Des, hit Kanrik like a sack of bricks. His mind stopped short. Love? Love had not even crossed his mind. Of course not. The idea of them as a couple was laughable, a joke. A sensationalist rumor spread by petty thieves. Des should know better.

Loving Hannah. Hah. Loving talkative, overexcited, over-energetic Hannah. She drove him up a wall, for crying out loud.

Kanrik gave a dismissive scoff towards the wall of the tent. “Don’t be absurd.”

Des raised her paws in jesting defense, “Well, excuse me. Didn’t mean to offend.”

“Love is dangerous. You of all people told me that.”

“No, I said _Masila_ was dangerous.”

“Exactly. Galem loved her. And look where that lead him.”

“Did he?”

Kanrik knew the truth. Galem loved Masila as a possession, as a prize. As one of the many precious trinkets he hung in his quarters. Kanrik loved her as a prize as well. As a sign that he was winning. She loved him as a means to an end. None of them loved each other genuinely. It was a poisonous triad of possession and greed that almost killed them all, and succeeded in one. But that did not comfort him. Was Hannah just another side of this terrible triangle? An escape, rather than a person. A method of relaxing his troubled mind. An item he can’t steal, thus making it all the more alluring.

Of course not. Because he didn’t love her.

“I don’t even know what it means to love someone else,” he said in a moment of strangely relieving vulnerability.

“Hm,” the cybunny hopped up closer to him, “that’s not the way I see it.”

Kanrik kept staring at the tent wall. “I just want to know if it’s safe to be friends with her.”

Des nodded. “Well then. Maybe you worry about someone using your vulnerabilities against you. Or her. A reasonable fear. And yeah, maybe you’re afraid for her, because of what happened with me. But Kanrik, you were younger then. Less wise. Something in you has changed.”

“That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“I’ll tell you one thing, as someone on the lower end of the thief rankings. Most of us like you as you’ve been as of late, and far better than Galem. They like that you occasionally let your flesh-and-blood Neopianness show. Constantly showing off your power breeds fear, but relating to your followers? That breeds true loyalty. I’ve never seen your popularity build like that night you honored that baby. Before then, I couldn’t see the dregs of this guild defending you in a coup. They feared that you’d be like Galem, or worse to compensate for your age. And they didn’t like that you fought on the other side during the war because they didn’t see the whole picture. But after that, they think you actually care. Now, I think they’d stand with you.”

Kanrik gave a small smile, in spite himself.

“Of course, there are those that are seeing your liaison as an opportunity. They’re trying to find out who she is. But I’m thinking, and I’m sure you are too, that she can take care of herself. Any woman you’d fa—be friends with would have to, I’d say. So the choice is yours. This may be risky, but so is closing yourself off. And as for her, she should be able to choose whether you’re too much of a risk for her sake. Not you.”

He nodded. He knew it seemed stoic, from the outside, but in reality he had little more to say. “It would be rather helpful if you could pass word to me on who is thinking of crossing me. I know,” he pointed towards her ears, “that you hear everything.”

“Will do. There’s nothing too pressing, yet. Though...” she tapped her finger on her chin, “there’s a boy, he’s talking big talk. Doubt he’d seriously try to usurp you, the little twerp. But I think he knows who she is. He seems to have friends in Brightvale who saw you two. He might start spilling just to show off, mostly because he’s a damned idiot.”

The coldness gripped his heart again, this time for a whole different reason. “Name?”

“Hanso.”

Kanrik knew who she was talking about. New recruit. Young, bold, boastful. Also once overheard bragging to his friends about wanting to steal from Kanrik too. “I’ll make sure to take care of that.” There was only so much “Neopianness” he could show. He still needed them to know that he would dole out discipline.

“Please do. He’s getting on my nerves,” she hopped towards the flap of the tent. “Take care of yourself, boy. And her.”

...

It wasn’t a shocking revelation, nor a dramatic wave of emotion that burned him like a flame. It was a quiet, subtle thought, a simple recognition of a change he had made. It came to him like a calming breeze that he had no need to run or hide from.

They were at Hannah’s beloved Golden Dubloon (not that she’d ever admit to liking it, but he’d seen the way she puffed up her chest when she burst through those doors and introduced him to the scallywags she’d known all her life. He’d guessed that rickety bar had become a part of her no different than her arm or her tail). It was long past midnight and Hannah had already downed a number of glasses. The strains of the fiddle and accordions had erupted the bar into lively dancing, and there wasn’t a pirate or a waitress without a partner on the cracked and squeaking floor. Men whooped and hollered and the women squealed in delight as they were lifted into the air by their waists. Hannah lead them like a pied piper, switching partners in a heartbeat. Her laughter rang above the ruckus of the room.

Kanrik watched from a distance, sipping from his mug without any intention of joining the party. He was not a dancer. Women had asked, of course, but he’d pointedly refused. It wasn’t even that he couldn’t dance—he had no idea if he could, because he never felt the desire to try. He pulled his hood—which he hadn’t abandoned by any means—to cover his eyes from onlookers.

Until he felt someone grab his hand and yank him forward.

He stumbled onto the floor just to see a laughing Hannah throw his hand on her waist and wrap his other around hers. His words of protest were quickly silenced by her smile, and she spun them into the crowd, leading him far more than he was leading her.

He continued to fumble until he found his footing and the beat of the music. “Just relax,” he thought he heard Hannah say, and he obeyed, letting the tune flow through him and everyone else melt away. He kept his eyes on hers, first for guidance, but it wasn’t long before he simply didn’t want to look away.

Before he knew it, he was flying over the wooden floors, spinning her tiny frame under his arms like he’d never questioned it. He broke into a liberated grin, laughing freely when he tripped and not even noticing when his hood dropped from his head, exposing his now-sweaty hair to her for the second time. He did notice, though, when she bit her lip to hide her glee, and for that he didn’t fix it.

And as he held her closer when the crowd swelled around them and she broke into drunken giggles against his chest, an alien thought entered his mind. He’d dance with her whenever she wanted him too. He’d never do that for anyone else but he’d do it for her, he’d do anything for her. He’d smile and laugh and cry and dance because she was unlike anyone he’d ever known. She drove him up a wall, but she’d shown him sides of himself he’d never seen, she was a marvel and a mystery, and he was in love with her.

He was in _love_ with her.

It was as simple as that.

Hannah danced on around him, completely unaware. Kanrik felt more at ease than he had since he was just a travelling child. The weight of his realization and all the terrible things it could imply would surely set in soon, but it didn’t matter in that moment, and something that sounded like Des' voice chimed in his mind an "I told you so." She smiled at him again, eyes sparkling. His smile was creaking and out of use, but he gave it to her freely.


End file.
